Harry Thunderer and the Uru Hammer
by JBean210
Summary: In the Department of Mysteries Harry chances upon an unusual artifact-a giant's wand. But is that what it really is? Of course not! It's the Hammer of Thor, and Harry is transformed into the Thunderer! How will he use the power that's been given to him?
1. Whosoever Holds This Hammer

Harry Thunderer and the Uru Hammer

Chapter One

**"Whosoever Holds this Hammer…"**

"NOW!" yelled Harry.

Behind him, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny and Luna all shouted "_Reducto_!" each one aiming their wand in a different direction, and five explosions rent the air around them, sending glass balls and shelves flying. "RUN!" Harry shouted, grabbing Hermione's robe and surging forward, elbowing one of the Death Eaters out of his way and raising an arm over his head to protect himself from the glass and wood raining down on them.

They had come to the Department of Mysteries to save Harry's godfather, Sirius Black from Voldemort, but had found only Death Eaters waiting for them, and the more Lucius Malfoy had crowed about it, the more convinced Harry became that Sirius wasn't here and he'd been tricked into retrieving the glass ball now tightly clutched in one hand, what Malfoy had said was a prophecy made about him and Voldemort.

Ron, Ginny and Luna were ahead of them, and as someone grabbed Harry's shoulder he heard Hermione shout "_Stupefy_!" and the hand released him. He, Hermione and Neville came to the end of row ninety-seven and turned right, then began running full-tilt toward the door ahead of them. They sprinted through the door, Harry slamming it shut as Neville made it through last, and Hermione pointed her wand at the door and shouted "_Colloportus_!" sealing it shut behind them.

Not seeing Ron, Ginny or Luna, they listened anxiously to the Death Eaters on the other side of the door make plans to search the area, then turned and ran through the room containing the bell jar with the egg hatching and unhatching in a weird cycle. They were nearly to the exit when a rough voice shouted "_Alohomora_!" and Harry dived under a desk, Neville and Hermione doing the same an instant later.

"Check under the desks," they heard a Death Eater say, and Harry poked his wand from under the desk as he saw a pair of knees bending down to look.

"_Stupefy_!" he shouted, then cursed as the man kicked his hand as he fell, causing his wand to fly out of his hand. The Death Eater fell onto a grandfather clock standing nearby, knocking it over. Harry rolled out from beneath the desk, looking frantically for his wand. Hermione slid out from under her desk and was preparing to hex another Death Eater sprinting toward them from the door they'd come through — she didn't notice a third man drawing a bead on her and beginning to shout the Killing Curse. But Harry did.

Grabbing for the desk to launch himself at the man, Harry's hand closed on a hard, round object, and he swung it instinctively at the Death Eater. His instinct proved correct — he batted away the man's wand and spoiled the spell. The Death Eater turned back towards him but Harry grabbed his new weapon with both hands and swung hard, knocking the man's mask away and sending him to the floor, unconscious.

Neville, finally coming out from under his desk (his robe had gotten caught) pointed his wand toward the last Death Eater and shouted, "_EXPELLIARMUS_!" and then yelled "Oh, NO! — s-sorry, Hermione!" as her wand spun away; she'd begun to hex the third man as well. That fellow, watching her wand flying toward him, raised his hand to snatch it from the air, then doubled over as Harry slammed a shoulder into his midsection, sending them both sprawling.

Harry was practically on top of the Death Eater, whose own wand was pressed against his chest by Harry's body. He was trying to bring Hermione's wand to bear on Harry, who was hampered by the prophecy still clutched in his left hand. Too close to swing his new weapon at the man, he did the only thing he could think of — he pushed away the man's wildly swinging wand with his left hand, then reached down, grabbed the Death Eater's own wand and shouted "_Stupefy_!"

The man's wand shot a red bolt into his chest, knocking him out. Harry grabbed Hermione's wand and his own newly-improvised weapon and ran back to her and Neville. "Here's your wand," he told her hurriedly, looking around quickly. "We've got to find mine!"

"What've you got there?" Hermione asked, pointing at the object in his hand.

"Uh —" Harry glanced down at it. He was holding a plain wooden stick, a bit over three feet long, and slightly tapered. "I grabbed it off a desk —" he began, then noticed a tag fastened near one end. Holding it up to see better, he read

Giant's Primitive Wand. Discovered in Norway by Muggle couple on holiday.  
Couple was attacked by three trolls guarding the object.  
Age of wand: _Undetermined_.  
Rec'd by ELD - Department of Mysteries: 5 Jun 1962

"Huh," Harry grunted, glancing at Hermione. "I didn't know giants used wands."

"They don't," Hermione said, frowning as she read the tag over Harry's shoulder. "At least, I never read anything about them doing that. Maybe they did, once, long ago. They've had this for thirty-four years," she said, noting the date on the tag. "I wonder — _look out_!"

Hermione suddenly pushed Harry down, and a spell whizzed by them as he fell to the ground. Two more Death Eaters had entered from the doorway at the other of the room, leading into the black hallway. There was a crash behind them as the spell that missed Harry and Hermione struck a glass-fronted cabinet full of Time Turners. The cabinet shattered and fell over, scattering broken hourglasses about the floor — then weirdly, everything began running in reverse, falling back together until it was intact once more, then falling apart again.

The Death Eater who'd missed cried, "_Impedimentia_!" a second time, knocking both Hermione and Neville off their feet.

The other Death Eater stopped, taking careful aim at Hermione. "_Stupef_—aaaargh!" he cried, grabbing his leg. Harry, on the ground, had smacked him on the shins with the stick. The first man spun around, confused — he hadn't realized Harry had attacked from the ground.

Neville recovered before Hermione and pointed his wand at the man. "_Stupefy_!" he shouted, and the first man fell over.

The other Death Eater, who'd been rubbing his shins, growled and straightened up, bellowing, "WE'VE GOT HIM IN HERE, IN THE —"

"_Silencio_!" Hermione cried, and the man's voice cut off suddenly. He spun around, his wand slashing at her, even as she turned toward Harry saying, "Harry, hit him with —!"

A streak of what looked like purple flames shot from his wand, passing across her chest, and Hermione gave a tiny, "oh!" and fell back onto the floor and lay motionless.

"HERMIONE!" Both Harry and Neville shouted in alarm. They each began crawling towards her as the silenced Death Eater ran towards them. Neville turned toward him, brandishing his wand. "_Stupe_—" he began, but the Death Eater simply lashed out with his foot, catching Neville in the face, and his wand spun away while Neville fell backwards, howling with pain as blood sprayed from his nose and mouth.

Harry growled in anger and swung back the stick, but stopped as the Death Eater pointed his wand at Harry's face, then reached up and tore off his mask. Harry recognized the long, pale face of the man from the _Daily Prophet_ — it was Antonin Dolohov, the wizard who had murdered the Prewetts.

With a twisted grin, Dolohov pointed toward the prophecy in Harry's hand, then at himself, then Hermione. His message was all too clear: _Give me the prophecy or get the same as her_!

"Like you won't kill us anyway, the moment I do!" Harry sneered.

"Do'd gib id to 'im, Harry!" Neville said, holding a hand over his broken nose.

There was a shout from a room nearby, followed by a crash and a scream.

Dolohov, startled, turned toward the sound, and Harry took the opportunity, swinging the stick in his hand at the man's head. It connected solidly and Dolohov dropped to the floor, unconscious.

"Nice swing, Harry," Neville commented as Harry used the stick to drag Dolohov's wand toward him. They both crawled back to where Hermione lay.

"Hermione," Harry said, urgently. "Wake up…"

"Whad was dat spell?" Neville asked, looking at him.

"Dunno," Harry replied. Neville reached for her wrist, listening for several seconds. Finally he nodded.

"Dere's a bulse, Harry, I'b sure id is…"

"So she's alive," Harry said, relieved.

Neville nodded. "I dink zo."

Harry listened for a few seconds, hearing nothing else around them. Whatever activity had distracted Dolohov was no longer audible. "Listen," he said, trying to figure out how to get Neville and Hermione out of harm's way. "We're near the circular room, if you can get across it to the corridor leading to the lift, you can get Hermione to safety then raise the alarm for us!"

"Whad are _you_ going do do?" Neville asked, frowning at him.

"Go find the others," Harry said, as if that should have been obvious.

Neville shook his head, splattering Harry with drops of blood. "We should stig togeddur, Harry," he said firmly. "De Dead Eaders are spread all ober de blace. We need to make as snall a targed as pob'ble."

Harry didn't like it, but Neville made sense. At least, as much as Harry could understand made sense. "But what about Hermione —"

"I'll carry her," Neville said, standing and wiping blood off his face with the sleeve of his robe. "You can fighd dem bedder dan I can, anyway." He began to pick up Hermione.

"Wait," Harry said, looking around. He still hadn't found his wand! He had Dolohov's but he didn't want to leave his own here. "_Accio Wand_!" he cried, pointing the wand to one side of the room. A wand came flying out of the dark and Harry caught it awkwardly, with two fingers of his left hand, the one still holding the prophecy. He stared at it — it was Neville's wand, and it was broken; apparently someone had stepped on it during the fight after he'd lost it.

"Oh, grade!" Neville moaned, seeing it. "My gran's going do kill be — dat was by dad's old wand…" He took it from Harry, looking at it morosely.

"Sorry, Neville," Harry said, distractedly. Why hadn't his own wand come to him? Had his thoughts been too vague about which wand he'd intended to summon? "You can have Dolohov's wand after I find my own again."

"Danks, Harry," Neville said, trying to hoist Hermione to her feet. "Uh, could you gibe be a hand —" But Harry had turned away, raising the confiscated wand to try another Summoning Charm.

"_Accio_ —" but in mid-word a door along the wall suddenly opened and three people fell through it into the room. It was Ron, Ginny and Luna.

"Ron! Ginny!" Harry cried, startled but relieved, he ran toward them, leaving Neville staring after him, still trying to lift Hermione. "Are you all okay?"

"No," Ginny said, her voice strained. Ron giggled, and Harry looked at him in surprise, then concern. Ron's face was very pale, nearly chalk white, and something dark was trickling from the corners of his mouth.

"Hey, Harry!" Ron said, much too loudly. He grinned at Harry, his eyes unfocused. "Bloody hell, mate, you look like you're all messed up!"

Harry looked at Luna, who appeared to be unhurt. "What happened?"

"Ginny's ankle's broken," Luna said softly. "We ended up in this odd room filled with planets. For a while we were just floating around in the dark. Then the bad men found us, and one grabbed Ginny's ankle. I blew up Pluto in his face, but —"

"Harry, guess what I saw?" Ron asked suddenly. "I saw Uranus! Get it? Ha ha ha…"

Harry frowned. "What happened to him?" he asked Luna.

"I don't know," Luna shook her head. "He seems to be having more fun now, but I could hardly get him to come along with us."

"Well, he's coming with us now," Harry said firmly, looking around. "Luna, can you help Ginny? I'll get Ron."

"I can do it myself," Ginny said impatiently. "It's only my — oww!" She cursed luridly as Luna helped her to her feet.

Harry glanced at her curiously. "D'you kiss your mum with that mouth?" he asked, grinning in spite of their predicament.

Ginny told him what he could do with his mouth, making Neville blush; Luna wondered if the act she'd suggested was even physically possible. "If we get out of this," Harry muttered, holding a giggling Ron against his side as he'd done for his cousin Dudley months earlier, "I'll be sure to find out and let you know!"

The three pairs of Hogwarts students moved into the black circular room, and Harry tried to decide which one to pick. The flaming "X" Hermione had put on a couple of the doors had faded, so they were back to making a one-in-twelve guess at the door leading to the exit. They were within a few feet of one of the doors when a door across the hall burst open and several Death Eaters sped into the hall, led by Bellatrix Lestrange.

"_There they are_!" she shrieked. "Get them!"

Swearing to himself, Harry slammed into the door. It burst open and he dropped Ron inside, then pushed Ginny and Luna through. He grabbed Hermione and helped Neville get her through the door, then pushed it closed with his foot, yelling, "Seal it!"

"_Colloportus_!" Luna shouted, and they heard several bodies slam into the door from the other side.

"It doesn't matter!" A man's voice on the other side said. "There are other ways in — WE'VE GOT THEM!"

Harry looked around. They were back in the Brain room. He was still holding Dolohov's wand — he'd forgotten his own! "Neville — here!" he tossed the wand to him. "You and Luna begin sealing these doors," he said, pointing to the doors along the wall. They began running down each wall, sealing doors as they went, and Harry turned, hoping Ron still had his wand, even if he was in no shape to use it.

He froze. Ron was pointing his wand, not at Harry but at a tank filled with brains. "Hey, Harry!" he giggled. "Did you see? There are brains in this room —"

"More than there are in your head right now, you prat!" Ginny hissed, leaning against a wall where Luna had left her. She appeared ready to hex Ron himself.

There was a shout from the far end of the room — Death Eaters had burst through a door, and Harry turned to see Luna flying through the air. She hit the top of a desk, slid across it then landed on the floor and lay as still as Hermione.

"Get them!" Bellatrix shrieked again, and she and the four men behind her thundered down the room toward them, only to stop, wary, as Ron shouted a spell in their direction.

"_Accio Brain_!" Everyone in the room still conscious stopped to watch as one of the brains zoomed to the top of the tank, then sped across the space between it and Ron's outstretched hands.

"RON, NO!" Harry shouted. The brain was spraying what looked like ribbons of images behind it, like a reel of film unraveling. Instinctively he pointed the stick in his hand toward Ron, shouting "Protego!" but if it was a giant's wand, Harry apparently didn't know enough about how it worked, for nothing happened.

Ron caught the brain, and the tentacles of thought immediately began wrapping themselves around his arms. "Harry, lookit what's happening, it's — hey — no — stop! I don't want to —" But the ribbons had begun to twist around Ron's chest as well as he thrashed and twisted, trying to dislodge them.

"Ron!" Ginny screamed. "Don't move, I'll — _Diffindo_!" she cast the Severing Charm at him, trying to cut the tentacles covering her brother, but the spell had no effect. Then a red jet of light from one of the Death Eaters, who'd surged forward again, struck her in the head and she dropped to the floor unconscious.

"Crap!" Harry said. It was only him and Neville left now. Two of the Death Eaters leapt forward, shooting shafts of light at them, like arrows, that left holes in the wall behind them.

"Careful!" Malfoy's voice shouted. "I've told you fools — don't hit Potter, he may drop the prophecy!" Harry, who'd briefly considered giving up, as he couldn't expect to win against five fully-qualified wizards, realized he had an edge. The _prophecy_! He could use it like a lure, drawing the Death Eaters away from his friends, giving them a chance to recover and escape.

Holding the prophecy high in his left hand and swinging wildly with the giant's wand in his right, Harry dashed away as Bellatrix Lestrange sprinted at him, through the door the Death Eaters had come through. They all gave chase, and Harry silently prayed that Neville would find a way to help Ron as he passed through the doorway and into a new room.

But only a few steps in, the floor suddenly dropped away, and Harry found himself tumbling end over end down steep stone steps, until he landed flat on his back at the bottom of the pit where they'd seen the strange stone archway earlier. Above him Harry could hear laughter as the five Death Eaters he'd just left behind piled into the room behind him, while as many others were entering from other doors, moving down the stone steps toward him. Groaning, he rolled onto his feet, though they trembled below him, and glared at them, backing away until his legs hit the dais where the archway stood. He clambered up on it and turned back toward his erstwhile captors.

They had all halted and were gazing at him, standing there. Many looked as bad as Harry felt — a couple were bleeding, and Dolohov, whom he'd knocked out only a minute or so earlier, was leering viciously at him. He had Harry's own wand, and it was pointed directly at his face.

Lucius Malfoy stepped forward, hand outstretched once again. "Potter, you're done, your race is over. Now _give me the prophecy_!" he barked.

"Let — let the others go," Harry panted, "and I'll give it to you."

There was more laughter from several of the Death Eaters. Malfoy looked around, grinning. "You are hardly in a position to bargain, Potter. The odds are ten to one — or did old Dumbledore never teach you how to count?"

"He's nod alone!" a young voice shouted, high above them. "He's god be!"

Harry's heart sank. _Bloody hell, Neville_! he thought. _You were supposed to run away, not come charging after me_! "Neville — go back!" he shouted, but in vain.

Neville stepped into the room, pointing the wand he held at the nearest Death Eater. "_STUBEFY_!" he shouted, though no jet of red light emerged from the wand. "_STUBEFY_! _STUBEFY_ —!"

One of the Death Eaters grabbed Neville from behind, pinning his arms to his side. The Death Eater was one of the largest ones there, Neville struggled and kicked, but to no avail, amid the laughter of the others.

"Well, Longbottom," Malfoy sneered, looking up at him. "It looks like your grandmother is about to lose yet another relative to our cause…I'm sure it will come as no great shock to her by now."

"This is Longbottom?" Bellatrix looked at Neville, a truly evil grin spreading across her gaunt features. "Well, I've had the pleasure of meeting your parents, boy —"

"I DOE YOU HAB!" Neville roared at her, and he strained so hard against his captor that the man yelled, "Someone stun him!"

"No — no — no!" Bellatrix turned toward him, then glanced down at Harry. A maniacal joy was growing in her. "Let's see how long he lasts before he cracks like his parents — or before Potter gives us the prophecy…"

Neville's eyes found Harry's "DON' GIB ID DO DEM!" he shouted, as Bellatrix advanced toward him, her wand raised. "DON' DO ID, HARRY!"

Bellatrix pointed her wand. "_Crucio_!"

Neville screamed wildly. His legs buckled beneath him, and the large Death Eater let him drop, falling down several steps to the floor of the room, still thrashing and screaming in agony.

Bellatrix pulled up her wand, ending the spell, and looked up at Harry. "That was just a taster, Potter," she cackled. "Now, either give us that prophecy or watch your little friend here die the hard way!"

Hope was draining out of Harry. He could not let Neville be tortured that way — better for them to die quickly than give Bellatrix Lestrange and the other twisted Death Eaters the satisfaction of hurting them and the others. If only he'd had _his_ wand, Harry thought, instead of this useless stick he'd found! Grimacing with frustrated despair, Harry slammed the stick down on the dais.

There was a blinding flash of light, and a clap of thunder shook the entire room. The Death Eaters instinctively covered their eyes, then looked around in stunned surprise. "W-what the devil happened?" Lucius Malfoy. He stared at the person now standing on the dais. "Where did Potter go?"

On the dais, Harry had been surprised by the flash of lightning as well, and didn't understand what Malfoy meant. He was still right here! Couldn't they see him? Even Neville, groaning on the floor next to the dais, was looking up, a blank expression showing no recognition of him. "H-Harry?" he croaked, looking around. "Where'd you go?"

"Dolohov! Macnair!" Malfoy shouted. "Stun that man! We must find out what he's done with Potter!" Harry, still a bit dazzled, was mentally assessing his injuries. Surprisingly, the bruises and bumps he'd suffered to this point seemed to have disappeared — he felt better at this moment than he ever had before! His strength and wind had returned, nothing was hurting him — then two taps on his chest brought him back to the present.

"What the hell?" Dolohov said, looking at Harry's wand in his hand, then at Macnair. "They bounced off!" Harry's eyes widened as he realized what had just happened — he'd been hit by two Stunners — two! — and he'd barely felt them!

"Everyone Stun him!" Malfoy shouted, and Harry watched as ten wands aimed and fired jets of red light at him. Weirdly, he watched the bolts come at him almost in slow motion. As the first one reached him, Harry swung with the stick in his right hand to bat it away.

But the stick was no longer a stick. It was a hammer, an honest-to-Merlin _hammer_, one that looked more like a war hammer than a carpenter's tool. It looked too big for him to even lift, but he swung it easily, effortlessly, knocking the red bolt back toward the Death Eater who'd fired it at him. Now, with his arms raised, Harry could see why the hammer felt so light in his arms.

His arms were _huge_. His biceps and forearm were rippling with muscles! Harry swung the hammer several more times, knocking the Stunners back toward the Death Eaters, who either dodged them or fell prey to the bolts themselves. When the volley finally stopped only six Death Eaters were still standing.

The entire room went dead silent. The Death Eaters stared at one another in shock. Lucius Malfoy was speechless. Only moments earlier things had finally started to go their way — the obnoxious Hogwarts brats were unconscious or neutralized, Potter was at their mercy, then suddenly — this muscle-bound stranger shows up, ruining _everything_! Malfoy stepped forward, pointing his wand toward the man on the dais, and said, "Everyone, _take him_ —"

Suddenly, high above them, two more doors burst open and five more people sprinted into the room: Sirius, Lupin, Moody, Tonks and Kingsley. Harry looked up, surprised and elated to see Sirius coming to his rescue. Though it hardly seemed like he needed rescuing now, Harry realized. Whatever had happened to him, somehow he was now a lot stronger and more powerful than he'd been when they'd arrived.

The chamber dissolved into a bedlam of shouted spells, shooting jets of light and bodies dodging crazily back and forth along the steps and walls. Harry saw Neville crawling along the floor, dodging spells, and moved toward him. At that same moment, a Death Eater leaped down next to Neville, pulling him upright and pressing his wand against the Hogwarts student's neck.

His eyes behind the mask were wide with fear, Harry saw — but holding Neville in front of him like a shield must've given the man courage. "Y-you took the prophecy from P-Potter," he said, nodding at Harry's left hand, where Harry still held the glass ball. "G-give it to me, or the boy gets — AAAAARGH!"

Harry had dropped the hammer and leapt forward, grasping the man's wrist and pulling the wand away from Neville's neck. But he'd grabbed hard and fast — there were several _cracks_ as the bones in the man's arm shattered like fine crystal. He screamed in agony as Harry held him aloft, his forearm twisted in an unnatural direction, then dropped him to the floor.

Harry turned to Neville. "You okay, Neville?" he asked, his voice sounding nothing like it had before this — this transformation, or whatever had happened to him. Neville looked up at him uncertainly.

"Uh, yeah," the round-faced boy said, staring at the stranger who'd saved him. He looked closer, seeing — "Harry, is dad _you_?"

"Yeah," Harry smiled. "How'd you know?"

Neville pointed at his face. "Your eyes," he said. "They're green!" He looked as confused as Harry felt. "Harry, whad in Berlin's nabe is going on —?"

"No idea," Harry said, looking around. Nearby, Kingsley was dueling two Death Eaters at once, while Tonks stood about halfway up the tiered seats firing spells at Bellatrix. He could see Sirius and Malfoy trading curses. There was a funny sound near their feet, and Harry looked down, seeing an electric blue eyeball — Moody's — roll by them. At the same moment the large Death Eater suddenly loomed nearby. But his target, Harry suddenly realized, wasn't them.

"The hammer!" the Death Eater roared, standing over it. "It's mine!" Leering at Harry, he leaned down and grasped the handle. Harry tensed — he wasn't sure how much punishment his new body could take from a weapon like that. "Come and — uuuuh!" The Death Eater strained, unable to lift the hammer from the floor. Strange, Harry thought; it weighed almost nothing in his grasp. Surely this big bloke could lift it…?

But rather than allow him the opportunity, Harry stepped over to the man and gave him a backhanded slap across the face, shattering his mask and dropping the man to the floor like a dead weight. He picked up the hammer then rejoined Neville. "We need to get the others out of here, Neville!"

"Righd!" Neville agreed, then looked around at the bedlam occurring all about them. "Bud how?"

At that moment Sirius had fought his way next to Neville, having cursed Malfoy into unconsciousness. "Longbottom!" he shouted to Neville, "Where's Harry at? And who's your big friend?" Sirius nodded at Harry, who was smiling wryly at him.

"Harry's righd dere!" Neville jerked a thumb at Harry, unable to suppress a grin as Sirius looked at him in shock. "_Dad's_ Harry!"

"Merlin's pants, Harry," Sirius said, in a tone of wonder. "What kind of hex did _you_ get hit with?"

"I don't know!" Harry said, speaking loudly to be heard over the bangs and ricochets of spells going off around them. "I was on the dais, about to give up the prophecy to Malfoy, then — _this_ happened!"

"We can sort that out later," Sirius said hurriedly. "You and Neville take the prophecy, get the others, and run!" He turned, blocking a curse from Dolohov, who was running toward them, then shouted "_Petrificus Totalus_!" freezing the Death Eater, who toppled over onto the floor. "Get going!" he said over his shoulder, running toward Bellatrix.

Harry nodded, but first walked over to Dolohov's immobile form and pulled his wand free from the man's hand. When his appearance changed, his clothes had transformed as well — instead of jeans, a t-shirt and trainers, He was dressed in a leather tunic and leggings, a deep blue that was almost black in color, and golden tan boots laced up with black leather thongs. A bright red cloak was affixed across his shoulders, and it was in the cloak that he found a pocket where he could put his wand for safekeeping. "Come on, Neville, let's find the others!" Harry said.

But as he turned, Harry saw Lucius Malfoy, who was awake again somehow, cast a spell toward Neville. Neville's legs immediately began a kind of frenzied tap dance. Harry leapt to his side. "Neville! Can you stand?"

"I — I d-don' know!" Neville said, watching his feet twitch and turn uncontrollably. He looked up at Harry. "I can'd make dem stop!"

"Let's get you out of here first," Harry said. "Then we'll deal with — what?" He was suddenly being encircled by lengths of chain, like the Incarcerous spell only more powerful. Within a few moments they had bound him from his chest to his wrists, pressing his arms against his sides.

"Now let's see what you can do, with your arms bound!" Lucius Malfoy jeered, moving cautiously towards Harry, around his left side to the hand which held the prophecy.

Harry began to panic. There was no way Malfoy could pry his hand open, but he was vulnerable to other curses once Malfoy realized that. He couldn't pass the prophecy to Neville, either — the Death Eater might Summon it as he was doing so. Just how strong _was_ he?

Harry took a deep breath, tightening the chains even more around him, then pressed outward with all the strength in his arms. The chains holding him shattered. A length of them whipped around, slamming into Malfoy and knocking him to the floor.

Harry heard a small _crack_ as he threw off the rest of the chains holding him. He glanced into his left hand; the glass ball there had shattered under the pressure of his fist as he broke the chains binding him. _Well_, he thought, _at least Voldemort wasn't going to get it, now_.

"Harry, look!" Neville pointed to the top of the stone steps, elation on his face. "It's Dubbledore!" Harry spun. It was indeed the Hogwarts headmaster, standing in a doorway of the room, his wand held high, his expression furious. He descended the steps rapidly, surprisingly spry for a man his age, and waved his wand at a Death Eater who'd seen him and began retreating up the steps in the opposite direction. The man was yanked back to the floor, bound with ropes as he hit the ground.

That left only one pair of combatants — Sirius and Bellatrix, on the dais. Nether of them seemed to realize Dumbledore was there. Sirius was laughing at her, dodging and deflecting her spells almost lazily. "Come on, you can do better than that!" he grinned, dodging a jet of red light from her wand, stepping in front of the archway and the veil that hung within it.

Her next spell struck him in the chest. Sirius's grin changes to a look of surprise, then fear, as he seemed to fall in slow motion to Harry's eyes. His body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch. The veil fluttered for a moment, as if in a high wind, then fell back into place.

Bellatrix screamed, a triumphant cry, but to Harry it meant nothing — Sirius would be getting up at any moment from behind the dais, where he'd obviously fallen. Kingsley ran forward to continue the duel with Bellatrix. Harry waited anxiously for Sirius to step out from behind the archway, laughing at his little joke.

But Sirius did not reappear.

"Sirius," Harry called, trying to get him to reappear. "_Sirius_!" He leaped onto the dais, striding toward the archway.

"STOP!" Lupin, who Harry had barely caught a glance of before this moment, shouted at him. "Don't go through the archway!"

"But Sirius is in there!" Harry pointed toward the veil. "I have to get him!"

"You cannot!" Dumbledore declared. "He is — gone…"

"NO!" Harry roared; everyone winced at the force of his words. "HE — IS —NOT — GONE!" Dropping the hammer he was holding, he turned and bolted through the archway, even as both Lupin and Dumbledore shouted "_Stop_!"

The other side of the arch was not at all like Harry imagined. He was instantly gripped by a raging maelstrom, a wind that tried to pull him away from the arch into a swirling vortex of darkness. One of his now-powerful hands shot out, grabbing the edge of the arch, and he stopped, suspended over nothingness. Of Sirius there was no sign. "Sirius!" Harry shouted, hoping against hope that there was something nearby his godfather could have caught hold of to stop himself as well. "SIRIUS!"

There was no reply. Harry thought about letting go of the archway, hoping the winds would blow him in the same direction they'd taken Sirius, but that seemed very unlikely. He pulled himself back toward the opening. It seemed to take all his strength to reach the arch, but he slowly closed the gap, then lurched through, back into the room where Dumbledore and the other members of the Order were waiting for him.

Both Dumbledore and Lupin were standing on the dais when he came back through. Harry stumbled, falling to one knee, then looked up at them. "I couldn't find him," he gasped, "but he's got to be in there! Where —" Harry stopped, looking at them curiously, for both men were staring at him in shock. "Where does that lead to? Luna and I heard voices behind the veil, earlier."

"And you are —?" Lupin queried, and Harry realized they hadn't recognized him yet, in his current form.

"Harry Potter," he said, standing. "I suppose you'll want to know what —"

There was a bang off to one side, and Kingsley yelled in pain as Bellatrix bolted up the steps, shrieking laughter. Dumbledore shot a spell after her, but she deflected it, stopping at the top of the steps to turn and smile madly at them. "I killed Sirius Black!" she said in a singsong voice, then ran out the door.

Harry turned, looking at Lupin and Dumbledore with shock now on his own face. "Dead? No, that's not —"

"I'm sorry," Lupin said, the pain in his tired eyes convincing Harry, more than anything, that what he said was true. "Anyone who passes through the veil, dies."

"No," Harry shook his head, confused. _He_ had just gone through the veil, hadn't he? "I was just there —"

"I would not have believed it possible if I had not witnessed it myself," Dumbledore told him, quietly. "You are the only person who has ever returned from the other side."

"But Sirius —" Harry turned toward the archway, desperately willing that Sirius would somehow appear again. Both Dumbledore and Lupin shook their heads.

"NO!" Harry shouted, looking toward the door Bellatrix had disappeared through. She must have known what would happen if Sirius went through the veil. "SHE KILLED HIM! SHE _KILLED_ HIM! I'LL — I'LL KILL HER!" Breaking away from Lupin and Dumbledore, Harry snatched the hammer up off the floor, then turned and leaped a dozen steps in one bound, to the top of the chamber and through the door to the Brain room, moving so fast he was nearly a blur. He reached the circular room just as she went through the opposite side, slamming the door shut behind her.

The room began to rotate once again, and Harry stood, fury mounting as he waited for it to stop once again. He _had_ to stop her! But he had only a one-in-twelve chance of picking the right door! The room came to a halt, and Harry stared at the doors, frustrated. How would he pick? With his newfound strength he could simply tear them open one by one, but that didn't guarantee that he'd find Bellatrix in time!

"Where's the exit?" he said to himself. "Which door is the way out?"

It seemed the room had been waiting for that question, for a door behind him immediately popped open, and Harry turned and bolted through it. In a few moments he had reached the lifts, and he heard one clattering and rumbling, its noise lessening as it moved away from him. Frantically he pushed the lift button to call another one, waiting impatiently as it clattered down toward him. When the grilles opened he dashed inside, pushing the button marked "Atrium" several times and watching the progress of the lift as it followed Bellatrix upward.

At the top, the lift had barely stopped before Harry tore the grille apart in his haste to get through. Bellatrix was at the telephone lift at the far end of the hall, but she turned back toward him. There was wicked elation on her face — she was still flushed with the thrill of murdering her cousin, but it was mingled with apprehension. She had no idea who this man was, who had spirited Potter away and routed her master's forces. Now alone and facing multiple opponents, she opted to cut her losses and leave, content with murdering Black. She ran into the telephone box.

It began to move upward. Harry bolted forward, but he could see the box would be out of view by the time he reached the far side of the Atrium. Angry, frustrated with not catching the woman who'd killed Sirius, he did the only thing he could think of — he threw the hammer in his hand, hoping to hit the side of the box and jam it before it got away.

The hammer flew, a gray whirling blur, unerringly toward the telephone box, striking the lower half and shattering it, spilling its occupant onto the floor below amid a crash of wood and broken glass. Then, amazingly, the hammer _reversed course_ and flew back toward him! Harry caught it automatically, then stared in wonder at the weapon in his hand. _What kind of hammer was this_?

But, first things first. Harry grimly strode over to where Bellatrix was trying to extricate herself from the tangle of broken wood and glass she'd fallen into. She was cut and bleeding, but Harry ignored that as he reached down, grabbed her around the throat and lifted her into the air. She glared back at him with an expression of mingled hate and fear. "If you're going to do anything," she gasped, around the hand that was nearly choking her, "you'd best be quick about it, my lad! _He'll_ be here any moment for Potter, and he won't be happy that you've spirited him away!"

"If you mean Voldemort," Harry said, noting her sharp intake of breath as he said the name, "I'm looking forward to seeing him, actually."

"You _dare_ speak his name?" she hissed. "You should show more respect! The Dark Lord does not even suffer his followers to use his name, much less muscle-bound oafs such as yourself!"

Harry grimaced. It was in his mind to simply close his hand, to crush her throat, and be done with her. She had killed Sirius — and boasted of it! That thought filled him with hot anger again, and his hand trembled about her throat.

Instead, he dropped her onto the ground. She managed to stay on her feet, though wobbly, and while she stared at him in confusion he reached into his robe pocket and pulled out his wand. "_Incarcerous_!" he said, binding her.

She looked at the ropes, then gave him a sneering smile. "Too goody-goody to do Potter's dirty work, are you? Too bad — I'll find you again sometime soon, and we'll see how this ends when we both have wands."

"Where's Voldemort?" Harry asked roughly, ignoring her threats.

"Coming," Bellatrix replied at once. "You should be afraid, considering the pain in store for you."

"You both should be afraid," said a high, clear voice behind them. Harry and Bellatrix both turned to see Lord Voldemort standing in the middle of the hall, his wand pointed toward them. "Bella, where is the prophecy?"  
"Master," Bellatrix's voice quavered with fear. "I — I do not know…Lucius thought Potter passed it to this man."

Voldemort's red-slit eyes turned toward Harry. There was an amused smirk on his thin lips. "He seemed to have you at a disadvantage, Bella, a moment ago." He pointed his wand at Harry's head. "Do you have the prophecy?"

"I did," Harry said flatly. "But I crushed it, by accident. It's gone."

Voldemort stared at him for several long seconds. Finally, he spoke. "I see it is the truth. How casually you sign your own death warrant, fool! Months of preparation — lost in a moment of clumsiness! But you will be punished first — _Crucio_!"

The Cruciatus Curse slammed into Harry, doubling him over. But it was not nearly as severe as the first time he'd felt it, in the cemetery in Little Hangleton, when Voldemort had first returned. He grimaced, fighting the pain, and stood upright again, taking a step toward the Dark Lord. Voldemort's eyes widened.

"It cannot be!" he breathed. "No one can endure this level of pain and still stand! _CRUCIO_!"

Waves of agony pounded Harry again, but he took yet another step in Voldemort's direction, closing the distance between them. Another step and he would be within striking distance of his hammer. Voldemort seemed to realize this as well, for he suddenly disappeared. The pain ended, Harry stopped moving forward and looked back toward Bellatrix.

Voldemort was at her side, an arm around her shoulders, his wand pointed toward Harry. "Mark my words, whoever you are. Your time is limited, as is Harry Potter's. He — and you — have thwarted me for the last time!" He and Bellatrix both disappeared.

Barely a moment later, a lift at the far end of the Atrium opened, disgorging Dumbledore, Lupin and Kingsley. At the same moment, several fireplaces swirled with emerald flames, their occupants dashing into the room with wands raised: Aurors from the Ministry, followed shortly by Cornelius Fudge himself, dressed in nightclothes and a robe but still wearing his usual green bowler.

"What the deuce is going on here?" Fudge demanded, rubbing bleary eyes—he'd been awakened in the middle of the night by one of his Aurors reporting unusual activity in the Ministry after hours. Seeing the headmaster approaching, his eyes narrowed in anger. "Dumbledore! You _dare_ to come here like this, after admitting a plot to overthrow the Ministry? Seize him!"

But the Aurors gathered around Fudge did not appear eager to engage Dumbledore and the men with him. "Well?" Fudge demanded, looking at his men, and they began to turn toward Dumbledore. Before anyone could make any overt moves, however, Harry spoke.

"He was here to stop Voldemort."

Fudge looked sharply at him "Oho! Another one of your men, Dumbledore? I haven't seen this one before."

"I'm —" Harry began, but Dumbledore spoke over him.

"Not one of my men, Cornelius, but someone you should listen to, nevertheless." When Fudge looked at him skeptically, Dumbledore went on. "This is the Asgardian, Thor."

Fudge snorted. "Oh, really, Dumbledore! Another one of your quaint stories to amuse us on a warm summer night? Well, I was already fast asleep, thank you very much!"

Harry wasn't sure he'd ever heard of this Thor that Dumbledore had spoken of — why had the headmaster told Fudge that? But he'd already been bombarded with several nasty shocks today, not the least of which was losing Sirius beyond the veil. He would follow Dumbledore's lead, if only because he had no idea what else to do.

"Do you doubt who I am, Minister?" Harry said, staring coolly at Fudge, who looked a little uncomfortable being challenged directly. But he recovered and fixed Harry with an imperious glare.

"I have no reason to believe _anything_ Dumbledore tells me, much less who you're supposed to be!" he snapped. He turned to the Aurors. "If you won't take Dumbledore, at least grab this man, for Merlin's sake!"

The Aurors raised their wands, as did Dumbledore, Lupin and Kingsley. For a moment it seemed a fight would break out. But Harry, not thinking, raised the weapon he had in his hand, the hammer, and shouted "_Expelliarmus_!"

Not only did the nearest Auror's wand fly from his hand, but so did every other wand in the room — even Dumbledore's, though the headmaster merely raised his hand in the air and his wand flew back into it. All the others scattered across the room, clattering to the floor out of reach.

"Merlin's beard!" Fudge exclaimed, after several moments of shocked silence.

Harry lowered the hammer. "No matter who you believe I am, or aren't, I tell you I did fight Voldemort —" several winces about the room "— he left only moments before you arrived, taking Bellatrix Lestrange with him. There are nine other Death Eaters below, in the Department of Mysteries, including Lucius Malfoy." Harry saw a shadow of fear cross Fudge's face. "Any concerns about that, Minister?" he asked.

"Er — no!" Fudge hastened to say. "None at all!" He looked at his men. "We'd — we'd better get down there and see what Lu— er, what those Death Eaters have to say about — about You-Know-Who!"

Fudge and the Aurors made their way to the lifts. They paused there for a moment as Fudge noticed the damage to one of the grilles. "Who did this?"

"I did," Harry spoke up. "Sorry.'

Fudge stared at the ruined lift for several seconds. "Ah. Yes. Well. That's very impressive. Er — come along, men." He and the Aurors disappeared into another lift. It began moving down toward the Department of Mysteries.

"Nicely handled, Harry," Dumbledore said, walking up to him. "I believe the Minister is now on the right track to admitting that Voldemort has returned."

Harry looked at him, his expression bleak. "I wish I'd known why he wanted me here tonight," he said, slowly. "I would have set the whole Ministry against him! Sirius wasn't even here, not until after we came to rescue him!"

"I'm sorry, Harry," Dumbledore murmured, putting a hand on his massive shoulders. "I should have ordered him to stay behind, at Grimmauld Place."

"He probably would have come, even then," Harry stated, flatly. "He didn't like being — being there alone all the time." His voice broke as he said this.

"I realized that," Dumbledore nodded. "But I also should have realized that neither of you would let anyone or anything stand in the way of rescuing the other."

Harry could only nod, mutely, at this statement. He'd hoped to go back through the arch and search for Sirius, somehow, but Lupin had said that anyone who went through the veil would die.

But Harry had passed through the veil, too! If what Lupin said was true, then why wasn't _he_ dead as well?

Dumbledore, seeing the expression on Harry's face, reached up and put a hand on his shoulder, for comfort. "Harry, I daresay you've been through a lot in the past few hours. Why don't you go back to my office and wait for me to join you, and we can talk about this after we get your friends looked after."

Numb with grief, Harry simply nodded again. Dumbledore pointed his wand and a fragment of the shattered telephone booth zoomed toward them. Catching it, Dumbledore tapped the object (it was the phone's handset — a length of cord dangled from one end), saying "_Portus_." The handset shuddered in his hand, glowing blue for a moment. He handed it to Harry.

"I must speak to Cornelius," he said. "But I will be finished within 30 minutes, and then I will join you in my office. We can determine then what has happened to you. Please make yourself comfortable there."

Harry nodded for a third time, and Dumbledore quietly counted to three. The familiar sensation of a hook grabbing him behind his navel pulled Harry forward, away from the Atrium into a swirl of colors and sounds.

***

Voldemort and Bellatrix appeared side-by-side in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, the place he had chosen, some months ago, as his base of operations. Bellatrix stumbled and nearly fell into a nearby chair, but the Dark Lord seemed to take no notice. She watched him warily as he moved slowly toward the handsome, marble-mantled fireplace and waved his wand toward it: a fire suddenly crackled to life in the wood there. Voldemort stared into the flames for several minutes, saying nothing.

The door opened and a blonde woman stepped into the room, looking around anxiously. Seeing Voldemort, she hesitated, then said, "My lord —"

"Ah, the lady of the house finally greets her guests," Voldemort said softly, not bothering to turn around. "I was beginning to wonder if you were ignoring us."

"My lord, I apologize. I — I was awaiting your return. I must've fallen asleep." Narcissa glanced around the room once again. "Did Lucius and the others not return with you?"

"Your foolish husband and the others allowed themselves to be captured by the Ministry," Voldemort said, coldly. Narcissa's expression went even whiter than her usual paleness. "I suspect that they are even now on their way to Azkaban, for safekeeping, until the Wizengamot makes their sentences official."

"Lucius — in prison?" Narcissa was aghast. "But he and Fudge had an arrangement —!"

"Don't be naïve, Narcissa," Bellatrix said, her voice as cold as her master's. Your husband and the others were caught red-handed breaking into the Department of Mysteries and assaulting Dumbledore's favorite students! All the gold in Gringotts probably couldn't help him buy his way clear, if the old man wants him out of the way!"

"But —" Narcissa began, then stopped as she realized the state her sister was in. "Bella, you're hurt!"

"A few scratches," Bellatrix shrugged, though a few of the cuts she'd received in the fall continued to stain her black robes with red. "I will take care of them presently."  
"You may leave my presence," Voldemort said, still staring into the fireplace. "I have no further use for you, Bellatrix."

"Master!" Bellatrix stood quickly. "I beg you — let me find a way to locate Potter and bring him to you, as penance for failing to procure the prophecy!"

"All in due time, Bella," Voldemort replied. "Before that, however, I want to know how the man who beat you was able to resist the Cruciatus Curse. I've never seen a human, Muggle or wizard, that could withstand the curse enough to stay on his feet. That bears investigating."

"He did seem much more powerful than a normal wizard," Bellatrix spoke resentfully. "He was able to throw that hammer nearly the length of the Atrium — it almost hit _me_ when it shattered the visitor's booth."

"Yes, that hammer…" Voldemort mused. "An interesting weapon for a wizard to use. Very unusual." His red eyes turned toward Narcissa. "When your son arrives home from school I will have some errands for him to run."

If possible, Narcissa went even paler than before. "Draco? But there's no need to burden him, Master — I can do anything you require."

"Do you suggest that following my orders will be a burden, Narcissa?" Voldemort asked, with a warning edge in his voice.

Bellatrix was giving her a look that told Narcissa she was about to cross a very dangerous line. "No, my lord," she answered calmly, using the Occluding techniques her older sister had taught her. "I simply want Draco to enjoy his holiday time from school."

Voldemort smiled mirthlessly at her. "Surely, with his father in prison, young Draco will be anxious to even the score with those who put him there…"

That, even Narcissa couldn't deny. "I — I suspect so, my lord."

"Very well, then." Voldemort turned away from them once again, looking into the flames crackling in the fireplace. "You may both leave my presence while I consider my next course of action."

"My lord," both Bellatrix and Narcissa murmured, exiting quickly from the room. As the door closed on the room Bellatrix slumped, nearly falling until her younger sister caught hold of her.

"We need to get you fixed up," Narcissa whispered, quickly looking over the various scrapes and cuts Bellatrix had sustained. "I'm surprised you've lasted this long without fainting, Bella!"

Bellatrix's mouth twisted. "I would not dare show any weakness before our master, Cissy — the Dark Lord does not value failure."

"I know," Narcissa agreed. Holding her sister up, they made their way down the hall to Lucius's private study, where he kept several medicinal potions in case of emergency. Easing Narcissa into a nearby chair, she took out her wand and tapped several times on a seemingly empty curio. The door sprang open, revealing an assortment of vials and bottles.

Narcissa snorted. "I'm surprised Lucius trusted you with the key to that."

"He didn't," Narcissa said, taking out a vial of Blood Replenishing Potion and another potion to clean and heal the bruises and cuts her sister had sustained in the fall. "But I've learned I need to know as much as possible about everything going on in this house, whether he wants me to or not." She brought the potions over to a small table next to where Bellatrix was sitting. "Damn," she muttered, looking around. "I forgot to bring a spoon — I'll have to conjure one —"

"Don't bother," Bellatrix said, talking the Blood Replenishing Potion from her hand and simply taking a swig. "Ecch — that's nasty-tasting."

Narcissa found a clean cloth and began dabbing the healing potion onto her sister's wounds. Bellatrix watched with detached interest as each cut or scrape immediately sealed as a puff of steam rose into the air. She caught Bellatrix's eye and spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you know what the Dark Lord's plans are for Draco?"

Bellatrix gave her a calculating look. "Our master keeps his own counsel on such matters, Cissy. It is not for us to question him."

"But —"

"_But_," Bellatrix cut over her, "I am sure he will tell me before your son returns from Dumbledore's little nursery school, to ask whether I think him capable of performing whatever tasks our lord sets for him."

"What will you tell him?" Narcissa asked anxiously. Bellatrix's cuts and scrapes had been treated; Narcissa now took her wand and began fixing the tears in her robes.

"The truth, of course," Bella replied, with a grim smile. "Or at least, the truth he expects me to tell him." When Narcissa shook her head, unwilling to be appeased by her words, Bellatrix reached out, taking her sister's shoulders. "Cissy, you can't stop this. It will be a great honor for Draco to follow the Dark Lord's commands directly."

"But he's just turned sixteen!" Narcissa insisted. "He's only a child!"

"He's older than I was, when I decided to follow our master's vision," Bellatrix pointed out. "You can't mother him forever, Cissy."

Narcissa slumped, defeated. "I just hope our lord won't ask him to kill someone. He's so delicate, I don't know what he'd do —"

Bellatrix laughed, a sound that froze the words in Narcissa's throat. "Oh, Cissy! Hasn't he been telling you what he's been doing this year, working for that cow Umbridge from the Ministry, to maintain discipline in the school? I think he'll handle himself just fine, following our master's orders!"

Narcissa, resentful that her son had confided in his aunt but not her, said nothing. All she could do now is hope that her son would be careful, whatever he was asked to do. She did not want him to end up as her husband had, captured and imprisoned. Narcissa resolved to herself that she would pest her older sister until they discovered what the Dark Lord's plans for Draco involved, so that she might take whatever steps were necessary to make sure he would not fail.


	2. If He Be Worthy

Harry Thunderer and the Uru Hammer

Chapter Two

**"If He Be Worthy…"**

When the whirlwind spinning of the Portkey ended, Harry found himself standing in the headmaster's office. He dropped the telephone handset into a nearby chintz chair. His landing had been much smoother than other Portkey trips he remembered — he'd landed lightly on his feet rather than stumbling clumsily, as he usually did, and didn't feel dizzy at all.

Looking around, Harry saw the damage that had occurred earlier during Dumbledore's escape had been repaired. All of his delicate silver instruments were back on their spindly tables, puffing and whirring as before. The office was otherwise silent except for an occasional snoring sound from a few of the portraits hanging about the room.

Harry sighed, not knowing what he should do next. He did not want to be here — he had the unpleasant feeling that Dumbledore wanted him out of the Ministry before Fudge and his men figured out who the tall, broad-shouldered stranger in the dark leather suit and long, flowing robe really was. In fact, Harry had almost expected it to be obvious — Neville had recognized him from his green eyes, hadn't he?

Harry looked around the room, realizing that he had not yet seen his own reflection since he'd transformed. There were no mirrors on the any of the walls — apparently the headmaster did not feel the need to check his appearance — when Harry glanced down at the surface of the enormous desk Dumbledore used, seeing himself reflected in its highly polished finish. What he saw made him gasp.

His hair, though still black, was now long, past shoulder-length, giving him the same general appearance as his godfather, Sirius Black. Not that anyone except Harry would have made that connection, because of what else was on his head — a gleaming steel war helmet, with eagle's wings on each side. Harry slowly lifted the helmet off his head and stared at his reflection in the desk's surface, so similar to his godfather Sirius.

Dumbledore and Lupin had said that Sirius was dead. Harry couldn't accept that — he'd gone through the veil, too, and managed to find his way back across. That meant there had to be a way to get Sirius back from there as well!

A particularly loud snore behind him became a cough, and the voice of Phineas Nigellus spoke, "And what brings my great-great-grandson to the headmaster of Hogwarts once again, this early in the morning?"

Harry turned slowly, staring at the former headmaster's portrait. Nigellus raised an eyebrow, then said, "Ah — my mistake. From behind you somewhat resembled one of my worthless descendants. How did you gain entry to this office, pray tell?"

"Dumbledore sent me here," Harry said, flatly, not bothering to explain who he really was. The former headmaster's disdain for Sirius was irritating. For a moment Harry considered smashing the portrait with his hammer. Nigellus didn't know, however, that Sirius was dead. And Harry had no intention of telling him anything, now. With an effort he turned away.

"Well!" Nigellus sniffed. "That's hardly —" he cut himself off as emerald fire suddenly burst from the fireplace, and Harry turned to watch the tall form spinning into view within the flames, then step into the room. The other portraits suddenly awoke as well, and several, along with Nigellus, called out greetings to Dumbledore, who nodded, murmuring his thanks.

As Harry watched, the professor walked over to a shelf, selected a book from among the hundreds lining his office walls, then returned to the chair behind his desk. He did not place the book on the desk, but held it in both hands, in such a way Harry could not make out the title. Looking up at Harry, he said, "You will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students suffered any lasting damage from tonight's events."

Harry nodded. "He started to say, "Good," but he could not — there was nothing good about anything that had happened that evening.

"Miss Tonks may spend some time at St. Mungo's," Dumbledore went on, "but she is expected to make a full recovery as well."

Harry nodded again. It was good to hear that, but there was only one person Harry wanted to talk about. "What are we going to do about Sirius?"

Dumbledore looked at him for a long moment, his blue eyes showing concern and sympathy. "Harry," he said, very quietly, "I know how you feel —"

"No, you don't." Harry cut him off. "If you did, you wouldn't be trying to tell me Sirius is —" he stopped, unable to make himself say it.

"Is…_what_?" Nigellus said, archly, looking expectantly at Dumbledore. "Has some further tragedy befallen my poor, beleaguered great-great-grandson —"

"Shut _up_!" Harry shouted. "You don't even care about him!"

"Typical!" Nigellus smirked, rolling his eyes as he turned back to Dumbledore. "In one breath this fellow tells us we don't understand his feelings — about _my_ descendant, mind you! — and in the next he complains about what he thinks _our_ feelings are! What rubbish!"

"Phineas," Dumbledore spoke slowly, almost reluctantly. "Sirius passed beyond the veil tonight."

Nigellus's expression froze. "Are you saying," he finally spoke, "that Sirius Black, the last descendant of the Black line — is dead?"  
"No!" Harry said, loudly, but Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"I don't believe you," Nigellus said curtly, and stalked out of his portrait.

"I don't, either," Harry said to Dumbledore, after Nigellus left. "_I_ returned from beyond the veil, didn't I? Why _can't_ Sirius still be alive, if I am?"

Some of the other headmaster's portraits were murmuring among themselves, trying to determine who the tall, dark-haired stranger, whom Dumbledore seemed to know, really was. A few had heard him use the name Harry, but seemed preposterous — the only Harry Dumbledore regularly spoke to was a scrawny, black-haired student (who was also the Boy-Who-Lived, some of them pointed out)!

Dumbledore held up the book he'd taken from the shelf. "I do have a theory about how you survived passage through the veil." The headmasters stopped murmuring and began listening once again. "It is because of the hammer you are carrying. Mjolnir."

"What?" Harry said. The last word Dumbledore said had no meaning for him.

"Mjolnir," Dumbledore repeated. "The hammer of Thor the Asgardian."

"That's what you told Fudge," Harry recalled. "He thought you were referring to some story until I went along with you. But I still never heard of this Thor, or a hammer named — Mee-yol-ner."

"I would not have expected you to, Harry," Dumbledore answered. "At least, no more than wizarding or Muggle books describe him, as the mythical Norse god of thunder.

"However, there are other sources of information about Thor and his people, who were called the _Aesir_, that were not accessible by most historians." The headmaster indicated the book he was holding. "This journal, for example. It was written in 1160 by one Snorri Sturluson, who is also credited with writing the _Prose Edda_, which consists partly of a narrative of Norse mythology.

"Albus, dear boy," one of the portraits shook her head disapprovingly, a woman with her hair in long silver ringlets. She was the only former Head of the school that could carry off calling Dumbledore "dear boy." "I believe your facts are somewhat in error. Snorri Sturluson indeed wrote the _Prose Edda_, among other things, but he was not born until 1179."

Dumbledore smiled. "Indeed, Dilys, you are correct as well. However, the Snorri I speak of was born nearly one hundred years earlier, around the year 1080 or so, to a branch of the Sturlungar family very few historians know of, Muggle or wizard. The Sturlungar family, you may recall, was powerful in the Icelandic Commonwealth in the thirteenth century."

Dilys gave a small nod of acknowledgement, and Dumbledore continued. "The book I hold is that Snorri's testament to Thor Odinson, whom he said he met in the flesh when he was a small boy, along with his hammer, Mjolnir. In the book, he describes some of the things Thor was able to do: he could command the wind and lightning with his hammer, and used it to fly through the air by throwing the hammer and catching the handle's strap. Snorri also wrote that Thor could use the hammer to disguise himself as a normal man, to walk among his followers unnoticed."

Harry shook his head in confusion, the long black hair he now wore swirling around him. "I don't understand any of that — and I don't care. What I _do_ care about is what happened to Sirius, and what we're going to do to find him!"

"Harry," Dumbledore said, patiently. "I understand —"

"So you keep saying!" Harry cut over him, as the portraits frowned and muttered disapprovingly at his rudeness. "But you're standing there trying to tell me about some old book written hundreds of years ago, instead of figuring out what we can do to save Sirius!"

Dumbledore was silent for several moments. "It may be impossible to save Sirius," he said at last. When Harry's expression grew mutinous, the headmaster pointed toward the hammer Harry still held in his now-massive fist. "It may also be that the weapon you now carry can be the key to his return."  
"What do you mean?" Harry held up the hammer before him.

"Before you, no one who had gone through the veil had ever returned, Harry," Dumbledore told him, as they both stared at the weapon Harry held between them. "When you did return, both Remus and I were amazed that anyone could have done so. Then, I saw what was written on the hammer and I realized what it actually was."

Harry looked down at the hammer, puzzled. "Written? Where? I don't see anything written on it." There were some markings along one side of the hammer, Harry saw, but they did not look like writing to him. Except —

"The writing is in runes," Dumbledore said. The inscription says,

**WHOSOEVER HOLDS THIS HAMMER  
****IF HE BE WORTHY  
****SHALL POSSESS THE POWER OF  
****THOR**

Harry frowned. "That seems like a stupid thing for someone to do, to put all of his power into an object like this."

Dumbledore gave him a small smile. "You might be surprised at what some people will place into objects, Harry."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Harry wanted to know.

"It's not important at the moment," the headmaster responded, dismissively, then held up Snorri's book once again. "What _is_ important is that we can use this book to help us understand more about what you've found, and perhaps we can use it to help you achieve your goals."

"My only goal for now," Harry replied at once, "is to find Sirius and bring him back. Are you going to help me do that, or not?"

"Harry," Dumbledore tried to explain again. "You need to understand what you are capable of doing now that you have that weapon. It could be extremely dangerous for you otherwise."

Harry snorted. "Didn't I make it back from across the veil?" he said, in an argumentative tone. "You said nobody had done that before I did — I didn't see what was so dangerous about it."

"You young fool!" one of the portraits, the corpulent Fortescue, suddenly burst out at Harry. "Dumbledore's trying to _help_ you, and yet you — _yiii_!" The red-nosed portrait shouted and barely got out of the frame as Harry suddenly flung the hammer he was holding at his picture. The hammer slammed into the empty frame, shattering the wall behind it. The empty frame and stone fragments fell to the ground, leaving a gaping hole in the wall of the Headmaster's office. The other portraits gasped in horror and outrage, though Dumbledore did not react at all. Harry held his hand out expectantly, and within a few moments the hammer returned to him through the hole. He turned to face Dumbledore.

"Whoever this Thor was, he was obviously a pretty powerful guy. That's probably why I was able to come back from the other side of the veil. I'm going to go think about this for a bit.

"Meanwhile, you can think about helping me find Sirius. Maybe, when I get back, and you've had time to think about it, you'll see it's the right thing to do."

"Where will you go?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. Just away. I can't be around here now, not with you and not where Ron or Hermione can see me. I don't think they'd get the new me, 'cause _I_ sure don't get me at the moment!"

Dumbledore held up the book in his hands. "What of learning what you're capable of doing now? That is essential if you are to make proper use —"

Harry pointed the hammer toward Dumbledore and said, "_Accio_ Book!" and it leapt from the headmaster's fingers into Harry's hand. "I'll take it with me," he said, as Dumbledore blinked in surprise. "You've already told me how to use it to fly."

"Harry, I —"

But even as Dumbledore spoke, Harry turned and flung the hammer toward the opening in the wall, then disappeared as the hammer dragged him like a shot into the morning sky. The headmaster stepped forward, watching Harry's form in flight as the hammer carried him away, toward the northeast.

Fortescue spoke from Dilys Derwent's portrait. "Blast it, Albus, that young hothead might've damaged me severely! Why did you let him keep that ruddy hammer — it's much too dangerous for anyone to have, if it is what you say."

"It might have been difficult to take it from him, Dexter," Dumbledore said, staring down at the debris at the base of the tower, where Fortescue's empty frame lay, shattered across the rubble it had fallen upon. "As it is, it will be no simple matter to get you back into your frame."

"I hope you'll get to it soon, Albus," Dilys said, with a sidelong glance at her fellow headmaster, who was huffing nervously beside her. "It does make things a bit crowded here."

***

Draco Malfoy sat back, a smirk on his lips, and nodded toward Goyle, who reached out and smacked the boy next to him across the cheek with a meaty hand.

"It's still up to you," he told the boy, who stared at him with a combination of loathing and terror. "I'm sure neither of my friends mind that you don't want to talk — we can keep this up all the way to King's Cross."

The round-faced boy across from Draco only shook his head again. His face was cut and swollen from numerous blows. "Then I guess you're going to have to keep it up all the way there, Malfoy — I don't know."

Malfoy leaned forward again, his gray eyes cold but barely concealing the furious anger he felt. "You and five other students, including Potter, got into the Department of Mysteries for reasons unknown. My father and his associates tried to stop you —"

Neville chuckled weakly. "Tried to _kill_ us, you mean! Unless you're so dim you don't even know he's a Death Eater —" he grunted as Malfoy nodded and Crabbe, on his opposite side, punched him in the cheek.

"I'd be careful about saying things like that, Longbottom," Draco said, in a low voice. "There are laws about slander, you know. Plus, it's rather rude." Both Crabbe and Goyle chuckled at this.

Draco sat back, thinking. They had brought Longbottom back to their compartment on the Hogwarts Express after catching him during a trip to the toilet. Ever since he'd heard what had happened at the Ministry with You-Know-Who, his father, and the others, Draco had been scheming for a confrontation with Potter. But the scrawny Gryffindor had never emerged from the school hospital, and no one had seen him since the day he, Professor Umbridge and that Mudblood Granger had disappeared into the Forbidden Forest. The others had gotten away from him and the Inquisition Squad, and since then he'd hoped to catch Potter's friend Weasley, or that insufferable Granger girl they hung out with, but they were both prefects like him; he had too much to lose if they squealed to their Head of House afterwards. It was safer to grab one of them on the train home. Longbottom, who was not very popular with most of the other Gryffindors, was a perfect choice, as he was unlikely to be missed during the ride.

"You're taking a lot of pounding for a person who doesn't care much about you, y'know," Draco drawled matter-of-factly, looking at Neville from beneath hooded eyelids. "Potter doesn't care about you."

"You're wrong about Harry," Neville told him, fiercely. "He _does_ care!"

"Then why's he letting this happen to you?" Draco wanted to know. "We've got you tied up in knots — literally!" Neville had been propped up in the seat between Crabbe and Goyle, his legs jinxed with the Jelly-Legs spell and intertwined so they couldn't be released from the spell without shattering his bones. His arms had been hexed similarly and knotted behind him.

Neville actually laughed aloud. "Boy, leave it to you, Malfoy," he said, "to kidnap me and then blame Harry because he hasn't come to save me! Why don't you just admit you can't hold a candle compared to him!"

Malfoy nodded absently and Goyle slugged Neville in the stomach. Pansy Parkinson, who'd been watching all this silently from Draco's side, finally spoke up. "If you really want find out what he knows, Draco, you need to put the _Crucio_ on him."

Crabbe, opposite her, grinned. "Yeah," he added in his soft voice, a voice that hardly seemed to fit someone as large as he. "Some _real_ pain will make 'im talk."

"Not yet," Draco said, firmly, and Crabbe snorted disappointment. In truth, Draco was unsure of crossing that line just yet; his father had warned him that Unforgivable Curses, while effective, were not taken lightly by the Ministry, and at the moment his father was still in Azkaban, though the dementors were no longer there.

Pansy gave him a hard look. "Maybe you should let _me_, if you're afraid to, Draco…"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Maybe I'll _Crucio_ _you_, if you keep pushing me."

Pansy laughed but put up her hands in mock surrender. Draco turned back to Neville, who'd watched the exchange warily. "You can't say I'm not looking out for you, Longbottom. See, my friends want to _Crucio_ you but I don't think it has to come to that. My aunt would probably curse me herself if she saw how soft I'm being on you —"

"Your aunt's a nutter," Neville spoke up. "A psychopath. Completely barking. She was one of your dad's 'associates' in the Ministry. The last I saw of her, she was —" Neville cut himself off suddenly.

"Was…_what_?" Draco said quickly, realizing that Longbottom had almost given something away. There was something he wanted to say about Bellatrix Lestrange. "Go on, say it."

Neville stared at him a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face. "Let's just say," he said at last, "I don't know if you're going to see her again. From what I heard, she got too close to the lightning."

"What the hell does that mean?" Draco growled. Crabbe balled his fist, but Draco waved him off. The stupid git was liable to knock Longbottom out before he could explain himself! "Talk, or I'll have them pound you some more."

"You're going to have them pound me anyway, Draco," Neville said, wearily. "I may as well not give you the satisfaction of telling you anything that happened at the Ministry. Ask your daddy the next time you see him."

"You may end up seeing _your_ parents soon," Draco threatened. "They're in St. Mungo's, aren't they — in the closed ward?"

"You ought to know," Neville shot back. "Your family put them there!"

Draco looked at Crabbe and Goyle. "Go ahead," he told them, and both of them began slapping and punching Neville in the face, chest and stomach. Frustrated, Draco jumped to his feet and walked out of the compartment, followed by Pansy.

"Damn Potter!" Draco swore, once outside the compartment. He was nearly shaking with anger — at Longbottom, for being so stubborn and withholding information, probably out of misguided loyalty to Potter; and at himself, for lacking the resolve to use an Unforgivable on the Gryffindor as Pansy and Crabbe suggested.

"So now what?" Pansy asked in a bored tone. "Try the _Crucio_ on him?"

"You're a sadistic little bitch, aren't you?" Draco snapped, and the Slytherin girl bridled.

"Listen to the little ferret," she hissed, and Draco shot her a dangerous glare. She _knew_ now much he hated being reminded of the time he'd been turned into a ferret, as it turned out by Barty Crouch, Jr., a Death Eater posing as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for that year, Alastor Moody.

"Crabbe and Goyle can have their fun," he said "I'll give him a Stunner when we get to the station. We'll all be long gone before he's found, and there'll be no evidence — fists leave bruises, but magic leaves traces. Snape warned me about that."  
"What about the jinxes on his arms and legs?" Pansy recalled. "Who cast them?"

"I had Crabbe and Goyle do them," Malfoy said, with a grin. "Maybe I'll let one of them do the Stunner as well. Then nothing can be traced back to me or you." Pansy nodded, smiling as well. They were covered.

They left Neville unconscious in the compartment at King's Cross. After Crabbe Stunned him, Malfoy had him and Goyle untangle his limbs and stretch him out flat on the seat, his hands folded across his chest, as if he'd been sleeping. His round face was still marked with bruises and cuts, and there were markings over most of his upper torso, but nobody would be the wiser. Besides, for all his misguided loyalty to Potter, Longbottom was a fellow pureblood, and Draco's father had reminded him that they stuck together. Except, of course, for blood traitors like the Weasleys.

Pansy had gone to gather her belongings and find her parents. On the platform, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle had gathered for one last meeting before parting for the summer. "Have a good holiday," Draco muttered, slipping each of them a small pouch filled with Galleons, a quick and easy token of appreciation. In the early days, he'd kept them filled with treats from the food trolley on the trips to and from Hogwarts, but these last few years nothing guaranteed continued loyal service like the clink of money.

Crabbe and Goyle murmured thanks, then saw their parents at the far side of the platform. They nodded to Malfoy, picked up their trunks, and headed off. Malfoy glanced around carefully; this time was the most unsettling for him, when his muscle was gone and he was vulnerable to attack. His parents usually appeared within moments of the train's arrival, but it would be different this year…

Malfoy's mouth twisted in anger again as he thought of his father — _his father_! — in Azkaban prison, because of Harry Potter! Whatever had happened to Potter, wherever he'd gone, Draco would hunt him down and hurt him for heaping that indignity upon him and his mother!

"_Draco_." Draco spun. The voice was his mother's, but barely above a whisper. She was gesturing toward him from a small doorway in a nearby wall, hidden so that only a few, special Wizarding families knew about it, or where it led to. He started to walk toward her but she whispered, "_Get your trunk_!" Draco stopped, confused for a moment, then grabbed the handle and wheeled it behind him over to where she was. "Hurry," she said, holding the door open for him, then glanced behind him as he passed through, to be sure no one had seen them.

"What's all this about?" Draco asked once inside the room, but his mother only shook her long blonde locks and hurried him over to the room's only other fixture, a large stone fireplace. There was a bowl of Floo powder on the roughly-cut wooden mantle. Draco reached for a pinch of the powder, but she held up a hand before he threw it into the flames.

"There have been some changes," she said quickly. "The Ministry is monitoring the Floo system, so we cannot travel home from here."

Draco shook his head, incredulous. "What difference does it make? We've been going home this way for _years_ now!"

"Things have changed since you were home this spring, Draco," his mother said, weariness in her voice. "Our home is no longer on the Floo system."

"Well, that's bloody inconvenient, Mother!" Draco snapped. Why had she even bothered to bring him in here, if they couldn't even floo home?

As if she knew what he was thinking, Narcissa said, "This link is off the system — it's a private connection now. The Ministry thinks it's been shut down."

"Where does it go?" Draco wanted to know.

"To Borgin and Burke's," Narcissa said. "Now hurry up — he's expecting us."

"Who — that old fool, Borgin?" Draco said, disdainfully. His mother hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Draco sniffed and shrugged, tossed the powder into the flames, then said loudly "Borgin and Burke's!" and stepped into the swirling emerald flames.

As he finished spinning, Draco stepped into the room he'd arrived at, expecting to see Borgin's slick, unctuous features. But the office he was in was cold and dusty; it looked long unused. Draco wondered briefly if the connection had failed, somehow, when his mother arrived behind him, with his trunk. With barely a glance at him she stepped toward the door of the room, gave it a final withering glare, then disappeared through the exit. Starting to follow, Draco spied a name plaque on the dusty desk that read CARACTACUS BURKE. Suppressing a snort reminiscent of his father, Draco stepped after her.

Only a few steps down a shabby hallway, Narcissa stopped at a door marked OFFICE and gave three sharp knocks. "Enter," a voice said, and she opened the door and pushed Draco inside, following behind him. This office, Draco saw, was occupied by the store's proprietor, Borgin, who was watching them from his desk, quill in hand, as Narcissa strode up to his desk. He smiled at them, though the smile didn't seem to extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shifting to every corner of the room. "Ah, Mrs. Malfoy. You've returned with young Draco, I see."

"Yes," Draco's mother said. She was glancing around the room as well, though Draco could see her expression was filled with disgust rather than nervousness. "You have our transportation arrangements made?" she asked. "I would not want my son and I to impose on your hospitality." Draco smiled thinly; it was his mother's subtle way of saying she didn't fancy hanging around this dump.

Borgin smiled and stood, gesturing them, not toward the fireplace, but toward another door leading from his office. Taking out his wand, he tapped the doorknob with an odd little rhythm, then opened the door, leading them down a short corridor to another room. This room had only a tall accountant's desk and a fireplace in it. There was a book on the desk, which Borgin opened and wrote briefly in, then turned and gestured to the fireplace.

"You may now travel to your home, Mrs. Malfoy," he said. "The private connection will be in effect for the next five minutes."

"Good," Narcissa nodded.

"A lot of bother just to get home," Draco grumbled, not noticing the look that passed between his mother and the oily shopkeeper, both of whom were quite old and clever enough to understand the danger their new situation had placed everyone in the Wizarding world in, not just the Mudbloods and blood traitors that Draco concerned himself with.

"Wait for me when you get there," Narcissa told him, as Draco grabbed a pinch of Floo powder and began to toss it into the flames. "We need to talk before you get settled."

Draco looked at her a long moment, then shrugged and stepped into the flames, saying "Malfoy Manor!" Moments later he was standing on the grate in front of the fireplace in his father's study. He stepped out, looking around, pleased to be home again, though it had only been a few months since spring break. This time, he would have over two months of holiday before having to go back. Now that O.W.L.s were finished, he would have an easy time before preparing for N.E.W.T.s the following year — though with any luck, the Dark Lord's return would make the need for further schoolwork unnecessary.

Narcissa appeared in a flash of emerald fire — at almost the same moment the door to the study opened and a raven-haired woman with heavily-lidded eyes leaned in — his aunt Bella! "I see you two finally made it back," Bellatrix said, in a softer, less condescending voice than she usually used with Draco. "He's been wanting to talk to Draco," she said to her younger sister.

"Who is?" Draco asked, curious. His mother turned to him and for a second there was a moment of elation on Draco's face — his father was home and they had waited to tell him! he decided.

Narcissa looked at him, her expression tense. "It was what I wanted to talk to you about," she said in a low, almost guttering voice. "_He_ wants to talk to you."

There was something about the way she said that. Draco glanced at his aunt—she was giving him a calculating look, as if she were gauging his reaction. "Who do you mean by 'he'?"

Bellatrix smiled at him. "You know who," she said, and for a moment Draco thought she meant his father, until her crooked smile made him realize, she meant the phrase literally: _You-Know-Who_!

"M-me?" Draco sputtered. "He wants t-to talk — to _me_?"

"Bella!" Narcissa hissed. "He's just returned home! The Master doesn't need to put him to work so soon!"

"The Master doesn't like to be kept waiting, either, Cissy!" Bellatrix retorted. "I only know he told me to bring Draco to him as soon as he got here!"

"I'll — I'll go," Draco said, slowly. His aunt beamed at him.

"Very good, Draco!" she told him, ignoring the worried look on her younger sister's face. "He'll like that you show no fear of him — but remember to show him proper respect!" she hastened to say.

"What — what does he want from me?" Draco asked her.

"I don't know," Bellatrix said, seriously. "But he must have something special in mind, to ask for your personally!"

That was what both Draco and Narcissa were afraid of. Draco nodded. "Where is he?"

"In the drawing room," Bellatrix said. "That's his room, now. Knock three times and wait for him to tell you to enter. If he does not answer, don't go in the room — come back here."

Draco nodded again, nervously. "What do I say to him? What do I call him?" Draco didn't want to call him _Master _— the idea both galled and frightened him.

Bellatrix thought for a moment. "Call him 'lord' or 'Dark Lord' — refer to him in the third person. He prefers that." She frowned at him. "And for mercy's sake, Draco! — get that attitude out of your head! Doing that with the Dark Lord is only going to get you killed!"

"What?!" both Draco and Narcissa said, startled.

"You're radiating hostility!" Bellatrix said, shaking her head disapprovingly. She looked up at Narcissa. "He's got quite a little chip on his shoulder, doesn't he!"

Narcissa sighed. "I'm sure he has good reason — most of the staff at that school is biased against the students in his House."

Bellatrix sniffed. "When I was at that school everyone kept out of our way. Professor Slughorn was a pompous old fool but he did make sure his House received proper respect!"

"Professor Snape does okay!" Draco spoke up. His aunt made a rude noise.

"That little hooked-nose snot is wrapped around Bumblebore's pinkie," she grumbled. Taking out her wand, Bellatrix waved it over Draco's robes, removing wrinkles, dust and soot in moments, then examined him carefully. "There! You're ready to for your audience. Now, _stop thinking_," she commanded. Draco looked at her, confused. "Clear your mind. The less you think, the less chance you have of thinking something the Dark Lord won't like. I'll have to teach you some Occlumency. Now, go on," she nodded toward the door.

Draco stepped into the hallway, looking up and down the dimly-lit room at the various family portraits on the walls before slowly turning and making his way to the drawing room door. He composed himself as his aunt said, clearing his mind of all extraneous thought (at least, as much as he could), then knocked three times on the door as she'd said.

"Enter," a high, clear voice replied, and Draco stepped in. The curtains were drawn across the windows, making the room darker than normal in the late afternoon. Even though it was the beginning of summer, there was a fire going in the large marble fireplace at the front of the room, with a figure seated in a large, ornate chair placed directly in front of the flames, so that his features were hidden in flickering shadows. Most of the room's furnishings were missing or pushed to the walls, so that nothing stood between Draco and the tall, thin man sitting before him, his red eyes burning into Draco's. "Approach, boy."

Draco stepped forward slowly, willing himself to think of nothing. "Y-yes, lord," he said, stopping a dozen feet from Voldemort. "My aunt said — said you needed something from me."

Voldemort smiled thinly. "Does that trouble you, Draco?"

Draco began to shake his head automatically, but the Dark Lord spoke. "The truth, Draco — I hate liars."

"Well," Draco said, after a moment, "it concerned me, yes."

"And why is that?"

"Well, I — I just didn't know what someone like me would be able to do for a powerful wizard like you, lord."

Voldemort chuckled softly. "Nicely phrased, young Draco. And I see your aunt coached you on guarding your thoughts in my presence." Draco shifted uncomfortably, and the man leaned forward, studying him, one arm under his chin resting on his knee. "In fact, I think you will be able to do quite a bit for me."

Voldemort sat back in his chair. "You have just completed your fifth year of education at Dumbledore's little school, haven't you." It wasn't really a question, Draco noticed. He nodded, murmuring assent. "How did you do on your O.W.L.s?"

Draco was taken aback. Was the Dark Lord asking about his _grades_? "Uh, Professor Snape said we would be notified in a couple of weeks. He said he thought I did well enough to continue in his Potions class," Draco couldn't help adding, with a bit of pride.

Voldemort smiled. "Do you think he was being truthful?" At Draco's confused expression, he shrugged and waved a long-fingered hand dismissively. "At any rate, I am more interested in your researching abilities than your Potions grades. I know a great many things, Draco, but one thing I do not have now is the freedom to move about unnoticed in the Wizarding world." Voldemort spread his arms slightly. "I am a bit noticeable these days. You, on the other hand, may come and go to the various libraries and bookdealers I send you to."

Draco nodded. He wasn't happy at the though of doing what amounted to school work during the holidays, but on the other hand —

"On the other hand," Voldemort said, finishing his unspoken thought. "I am not sending you out to murder anyway, eh? Well, not yet…" and he laughed, coldly, sending a thrill of fear up Draco's spine.

"What — what will I be researching, lord?" Draco asked, to distract himself from breaking into shivers.

Voldemort took out his wand, and Draco was instantly wary. But the Dark Lord merely waved it toward a low cabinet along a nearby wall, and it slid forward between them. With another gesture, the cabinet opened and a stone bowl floated out of it and onto its top. Draco could see symbols inscribed along the edge of the bowl, and inside it was a swirling silver substance. Voldemort tapped the edge of the bowl, and a figure rose out of the bowl, revolving slowly in place.

"Your aunt Bella gave me this memory of one of her attackers in the Department of Mysteries shortly after I rescued her from him. Look at him." Draco looked at the image of the tall, long-haired man, dressed in leather leggings and vest, boots, cloak and winged helmet. "Notice the weapon he's carrying, a war hammer. According to your aunt, he was able to throw this weapon at her from across the Atrium of the Ministry, striking the visitor's entrance box and foiling her escape. Afterwards, the hammer reversed its course and returned to the thrower's hand."

Impressed in spite of the danger to his aunt, Draco asked, "Who is he?"

"It will be your task to find out," Voldemort told him. The figure sank into the swirling liquid. "Now you know what he looks like." The Dark Lord folded his hands in front of himself and leaned toward Draco. "There have been mutterings among the intelligent idiots at the Ministry that the figure was Thor of Asgard, but I think that an overly facile deduction."

Not really knowing what that meant, Draco decided to ask a question, hoping to get a response he _did_ understand. "How did my aunt Bella get such a vivid mental image of this person? What was he doing at the Ministry?"

Voldemort gave him a look that told Draco it wasn't wise to ask too many questions — he tired quickly of being interrogated by his underlings. "He was helping Harry Potter and his little friends in the Department of Mysteries."

"Potter? What were they —" Draco cut himself off. "I mean, I wondered what they were doing there," he said, trying not to sound as if he were demanding an answer.

Voldemort had looked away from him. "Not important," he said in a quiet, dangerous voice. He glanced back at Draco. "You will begin your research at once," he said, waving his hand in dismissal. "Return when you have found something of importance."

Draco nodded. "Yes, lord." He backed up slowly to the door, bowing as he exited. He closed the door softly, then walked slowly down the hallway to the front entrance. He stepped out the front door, walking slowly down the steps into the dimming sunlight of early summer evening. The air was fresh and cool, but Draco felt nothing as he walked onto the lawn, in the freshly mown grass, not hearing the sounds of the albino pheasants as they moved away from him.

When he'd walked as far from the house as he could go, nearly to the hedgerow that separated the Malfoy estate from the country lane that led up to it, he fell to his knees, leaned forward on his hands, and vomited.

***

Harry strode along the mountain path, glancing at the passing trees and rock formations, the sound of running water and tree limbs swaying in the summer breeze. He had noticed, in the past few days, a strange but welcome calmness that had begun to fall over him as he moved further and further north in this land across the North Sea, where he'd been led after leaving the school.

When Harry had left Hogwarts he'd been upset, angry — angry at Dumbledore, angry at himself. If the headmaster was right, he possessed the power to save Sirius from beyond the veil, yet he'd spent what now seemed like weeks wandering through this strange land, mostly avoiding contact with people, though every so often he found himself wanting to eat or sleep in comfort. He did not seem to get hungry or sleepy from need, however, but simply desired to eat or sleep. He did not speak the language of this country, but he was usually able to show shopkeepers or villagers he could perform quite a lot of work in return for a meal or cot to sleep on, and most of the people he met seemed eager to help him, for some reason. As if they recognized him — or at least, his hammer, since a few times he was only required to knock down a tree or two before he would be treated to a sumptuous dinner and given a huge bed to sleep in. And in some villages the women there, well, _threw_ themselves at him! Often the bed he came to was already filled with a buxom young girl (or two!) who expected him to — well, Harry was embarrassed when he thought of the gestures some of them made, trying to get him to understand. While his body liked the idea (as Harry realized to his horror while staring at a beautiful blonde's bare and ample bosoms), he didn't feel like his head was quite ready for sex yet. He just got the young women out of his bedroom, locked or barred the doors as necessary, and made sure not to remove his leggings. Though he was often offered a bath, he learned it was safer to bathe in streams or lakes in unpopulated regions. There he didn't have to worry about naked young ladies jumping into the bath with him, to scrub his back (and anything else they could get a hold of)!

The path he was on was well inland from the nearest seashore, though this country had numerous large rivers running toward it from the mountains that covered its interior part. It was an unusual sensation, but Harry felt something like "kinship" for his surroundings, a sense of peace and belonging that he'd never felt, either at Privet Drive or at Hogwarts, though he'd regarded Hogwarts as his real home for years now. Harry touched the hammer, now fastened by a hook on his belt with the thong handle strap, and felt further reassured. Undoubtedly it was the source of these feelings.

Harry stopped. His eyes, much sharper since his transformation, had detected movement further up the path. He might have expected an animal, like a ram or some predator, but was surprised to see it was — an old man.

Harry stopped, watching the figure warily. He was much too far up in the mountain passes for an old man to simply be enjoying a leisurely stroll on a summer afternoon. He was even using a staff for support, Harry could see. What was he doing up here? He was moving up the trail, in the same direction Harry was going — but there were no towns or villages in that direction, only a few behind him, some miles back.

A suspicion filtered into Harry's brain, one he had wondered if and when it would happen for some time — Dumbledore had come looking for him! The idea both pleased and rankled Harry — he hoped the headmaster was ready to help him find Sirius, but at the same time he wasn't sure if he wanted to leave where he was now, when he felt so…peaceful being here. He moved carefully up the trail behind the old man, staying out of sight, to see where he was heading.

The old man moved at a slow but steady pace. He seemed to be limping slightly, but that could simply be part of his guise, Harry decided. It just didn't make sense that an old, lame man would be tramping through the mountains of Norway (which Harry had managed to deduce from a number of signs he'd seen; though he couldn't read the language, some of the signs had French or English on them as well), even on as nice and sunny a day as this. As Harry drew closer to the old man, he became more and more convinced it was Dumbledore: the man was wearing blue robes, one of the headmaster's favorite colors. He was also wearing an old, beaten wizard's hat, pointed with a wide brim. Every so often he would stop and look around, as if expecting to see someone. Probably looking for him, Harry decided as he watched the old man stop at a point where a barely discernable path forked off into a crevasse. Looking around, the old man turned and started along the path, passing out of sight into the crevasse. Harry followed, now very curious to see what the old man was up to.

The crevasse was not very deep but it ended at the mouth of a cave into the side of the mountain. Of the old man there was no sign. Evidently he had gone into the cave. Harry strode briskly to the mouth of the cave, looking inside.

The old man was seated on a flat rock, his back to the cave entrance, his gnarled hands held over a fire burning in a circle of rocks. Even though it was pleasantly warm outside, the cave was certainly cool enough for an old man to need to warm himself. "Hello," the old man said, without turning around.

It wasn't Dumbledore's voice. But again, that was meaningless — the headmaster could certainly disguise it. "Hello," Harry answered. "Do you speak English?"

There was a chuckle. "I speak several languages," the old man said, rubbing his hands together briskly. "We can use English, if you like." He pointed to another nearby flat rock. "Will you join me?"

Harry walked over slowly, sitting on the rock the old man pointed to. Strangely, the fire died down as he was seated, so that even with the superior vision his new body had given him, he was barely able to see the old man's features. He sat hunched over the fire, the brim of his hat hiding most of his face. "Why have you been following me?" the old man asked, suddenly.

_Right to the point_, Harry thought. Not always something the headmaster did in conversation, but in this case he had no desire to mince words, either. "I think you have that backwards — I think _you've_ been looking for _me_."

The old man chuckled again. "I wondered when you'd notice. I've been following you around for a week, now." Harry blinked; today was the first time he'd seen the man. "You picked an apt place for us to talk."

Harry looked around. "This cave? Why's it apt?"

The old man sat up straighter, though the hat still hid half his features. The brim, tilted at an angle, showed a single blue eye staring at Harry with interest. Harry didn't see a half-moon spectacle in front of it, but of course it would hardly be a disguise if the professor wore his trademark glasses. "Don't you recognize this cave?"

"Why would I recognize this cave, Professor?" Harry said, deciding the game was up. "I've never been in here before!"

The fire suddenly flared, burning brightly, and Harry blinked at the increased light. "Tell me how you received that hammer!" the old man demanded.

"_What_?" Why would Dumbledore ask him _that_, he wondered. "You know where I found it!" he said, standing. He reached into the pouch in his cloak, pulling out the book he'd taken from Dumbledore that day in his office he'd left Hogwarts to come here. He'd glanced through it a few times but since he'd never learned to read runes, it had been pretty useless to him. "You remember the book, don't you?"

The old man put out his hand and the book leaped from Harry's hand to his. He looked at the cover for several seconds, smiling, then hid the book away in his robes. He stood, hefting his staff, and looked evenly at Harry. "You are not Thor."

Harry shook his head. "I'm not. And you are not just an old man."  
"Neither of us are what we seem to be," the old man agreed. He was no longer the stooped, limping person Harry had watched hobble along the path to this cave — he stood straighter, holding his staff rather than supporting himself upon it, and now gazed upon Harry with a look that made him think, not of Dumbledore, but of a wrathful patriarch. "But your appearance betrays the baseness of your deception, and cries out to be avenged. I have said, you are not Thor. _Now tell me who you are_!"

Before the old man's anger Harry felt a sudden apprehension. "I'm — I'm Harry Potter," he explained. "When I was in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic, I found a long stick that was supposed to be a giant's wand. I was trying to use it and it turned me into this." Harry spread his arms, indicating his appearance. "The stick also changed into the hammer."

"And did you not wonder at this marvelous transformation," the old man asked, his voice taut with anger. "Did you not read the inscription on the hammer?"

"My — my headmaster at school told me what it said," Harry replied.

"And do you think yourself worthy, Harry Potter," the old man wanted to know, "of possessing Mjolnir?"

In answer, Harry reached down and slipped Mjolnir off his belt, holding before him. "I do possess it," he said evenly. "I saw a powerful man try to pick it up — he could not even budge it! Yet I hold it easily in my hand!"  
The old man squared off in front of him, then spread his arms wide. "Then prove your worthiness. Strike me!"

Harry laughed. "Don't be foolish! Even if you aren't Professor Dumbledore, you don't stand a chance against me and this hammer! I've knocked down trees as big around as I am with one blow from this hammer — it would tear you apart!"

"You seem convinced of your own power," the old man said. "If I thought you could harm me, I would not let you strike." When Harry did not move for several seconds, the old man's staff suddenly lashed out with his staff, striking Harry in the side of the head, bowling him off his feet. Sitting up on the ground, Harry touched the side of his face in surprise. A few of the men in some of the villages he'd visited had asked him to wrestle them, and he had tossed them about like rag dolls, though he knew little about grappling. But an almost casual blow from this old man and a wooden stick had knocked him down! Incensed, Harry leaped to his feet.

"You think you can withstand one of my blows?" he snarled. "We'll just see!" And he swung the hammer at the old man's head.

As the hammer came down at his forehead, the old man's left hand came up, catching the flat of the hammer in his palm. He jerked the hammer out of Harry's hand, the thong slipping off of his wrist, and flipped it into the air, catching it by the handle. "As I thought," he said, his anger still present but seeming to abate some. "Now, let us see what your true appearance is." He bent down and tapped the head of the hammer on the ground.

There was a flash of light and the rumble of thunder rolled through the mountains, echoing along the walls of the cave that stretched off into darkness behind them. The tall, long-haired man was gone — in his place was a scrawny teenager with black hair, green eyes and round glasses, and a lightning scar on his forehead. Harry looked down at himself, seeing his t-shirt, jeans and trainers. "I'm me again," he said, in an awed, and somehow resigned voice. "I'm Harry Potter."

"Yes," the old man nodded. What he had just done did not seem to give him any satisfaction. "And my search continues."

Harry looked up at the old man. Now, from the perspective of his normal form, he could see he was tall and powerfully built. His face, now shining in the light of the fire blazing between them, held a powerful dignity, even though Harry could now see that one eye, his left one, was closed; the eyelid hung as if the socket was empty. "You were looking for this Thor?"

The man nodded. "Yes, for a very long time. He has been gone for many years. I felt his presence again on Earth only a few weeks ago, and have been searching here since then. I came upon you a week ago and waited until you discovered I was tracking you. I wondered why it took you so long, but now I know it is because you are not my son."

"And who are you?"

"I am One-Eyed Odin, Lord of the Hanged," the old man said.


	3. Shall Possess the Power of THOR

**Harry Thunderer and the Uru Hammer**

**Chapter Three**

**"Shall Possess the Power of THOR"**

"Lord of the Hanged…" Harry repeated, unconsciously touching his throat. The old, gray-bearded man he had confronted in the cave they stood in had turned out to be no mere man, but Odin One-Eye himself! He didn't know much about Norse mythology, but he did know about the pain of loss, and it was plain that the angry man — or whatever he was — who stood before him had expected Harry to be his son, and he was upset and angry to find he was not.

"Look," Harry said, trying to sound both placating and assertive. "I'm sorry about your son, Thor, but I don't know what happened to him. That hammer —" he pointed to Mjolnir, which Odin now held in his left hand "— I mean, it was just a stick when I found it."

"Like this?" Odin said, and struck the handle of the hammer against the ground, once. The hammer flashed an brilliant white light at them, dazzling Harry. When his vision returned a moment later, Odin no longer held a hammer, but a long, wooden stick, just like the stick Harry had picked up in the Department of Mysteries.

"Yes," Harry said. "Exactly like that!" It even had the tag on it that had identified it! Seeing it, Odin read the tag, his face growing darker as he scanned the words. "So, this was taken from where I placed it, all those years ago!" he said, looking at Harry with a fierceness that made him uneasy. "Boy, do you know who removed this from this cave?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "I wasn't even born until almost twenty years later."

"The initials on this tag," Odin went on. "E-L-D. Do you know who they might belong to? I would speak with him."

"I don't know," Harry said. He was not happy having to keep giving bad news to this man, someone who at the very _least_ was an extremely powerful wizard. "But I understand your pain at the loss of your son, and your anger."

Odin's one eye narrowed. "Do not presume to flatter me by pretending you understand my plight. You understand _nothing_ about it!"

"But I have lost someone important to me as well," Harry went on, trying to communicate the pain he'd felt when he lost Sirius. "My godfather, Sirius Black, was sent beyond the veil — it is an archway with a veil hanging across it — while dueling his cousin. I was told it meant he was dead. I tried to follow him, but I was unable to do more than pass back through the veil."

"And your reason for telling me this sad tale?" Odin said, gruffly. "If your godfather died in battle, one of my Valkyries would have taken him to Valhalla, where he could enjoy battle by day and feast and revelry by night, in preparation for the final battle."

"But he didn't really die!" Harry said, upset by what Odin had said. Knowing Sirius as he did, Harry was afraid his reckless, carefree godfather might accept such an offer, if given the chance! "He just passed through the veil! _I_ passed through the veil, but with the power of the hammer I was able to get back to this side!"

Odin said nothing, but regarded Harry with his one blue eye. "This godfather of yours," he said at last, watching Harry carefully. "He was important to you?"

"Yes, very," Harry said at once. "I wanted to find a way for the hammer to allow me to bring him back from the other side."

Odin raised an eyebrow. "No simple task, even for me, who rules all the worlds of the Aesir. But we each have something the other wants: I want to find my son, Thor, and you want to bring your godfather back.

"So, I will strike a bargain with you," Odin continued. He stamped his staff once on the floor of the cave, and with a brilliant flash his appearance changed. Now he stood, even taller than before, wearing gleaming armor instead of blue robes, and a helmet with golden horns instead of his wide-brimmed hat. His staff had changed as well — it was a long spear, with ornate runes carved along its length. It reminded Harry of exactly what had happened when he struck the giant's wand against the dais in the Department of Mysteries. In Odin's left hand, the stick had once again become the hammer.

"I will give you the hammer, Mjolnir," Odin told him. "And I will show you its uses. You will return to your 'Ministry of Magic' and discover what has become of my son, Thor."

"Okay…" Harry said, slowly. It sounded like a reasonable bargain, except — "What if he's dead?"

"He is not dead," Odin shook his white-bearded head. "Else he would be in either Valhalla with my other valiant followers, or else a slave of Hela in Hel or Niflheim."

"What's Niflheim?" Harry asked. He could already guess what "Hel" was, and he didn't like the idea of Sirius in a place like that. "Is it like Valhalla, a place where the dead gather?"

Odin's countenance was stony—he did not like the comparison of Niflheim with Valhalla. "Niflheim is the abode of the inglorious dead, those who were evil or showed cowardice in battle. My Valkyries do not suffer them to enter Valhalla — they are sent on to Hela's realm."

"Can I ask who Hela is?" Harry went on, trying to find out as much about the places Odin controlled as he could.

"She is my stepson Loki's daughter, his favored child," Odin answered. "I offered her the role of Valkyrie, but she refused, saying she would rather rule the abode of the disgraced dead than serve Odin in Asgard! I granted her boon, making her the queen of death, but for her to stand on the crossroads of life and death meant that she must be both dead and alive."

Harry couldn't pretend to understand any of this — perhaps he'd be able to figure it out later. "Who is Loki?" he asked.

Odin sighed. "So many questions! Perhaps it would be simpler to show you." He drew an arch in the air with the tip of his spear. As the gesture was completed, the interior of the arch began to glow with white light. "Come, Harry Potter, I will show you the worlds of the Aesir." He gestured for Harry to step through the arch.

_What have I got myself into_? Harry wondered, but he was still determined to get the hammer back, find Sirius, and help find Odin's son if he could. He stepped into the glowing whiteness of the archway, with Odin following behind him. As soon as Odin passed through the arch, it vanished in a flash of light.

***

"I wish I knew what they were playing at!" Hermione Granger said, fretfully. She, along with Ginny and Ron Weasley, were sitting in Ginny's bedroom. Ginny was sitting on the bed, legs crossed in front of her, while Hermione's hung over the side — to allow her to quickly get up and take different books from her trunk. "There must be some way to figure out where Harry is!" This was the reason for her ransacking of her own trunk — she was searching through various spell books, looking for a spell that would locate a particular person.

"Maybe he isn't anywhere," Ron said, morosely. "Maybe he got killed, an' they're keeping it from us."

"Wonderful thought, Ron," Ginny said, sarcastically. "You're a regular fountain of optimism, aren't you?!"

"Well, it's the only thing that makes sense!" Ron retorted, defensively. "I mean, he just didn't forget to go home, or anywhere else, when he got done talking to Dumbledore, did he?"

As far as they knew, Harry had been sent to Dumbledore's office after the battle with the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries last month. They had that from Tonks, who'd been out cold at the end of the battle, but had been told by Remus Lupin that Dumbledore sent Harry there with a Portkey.

After that — nothing. Everyone else who'd been in the battle was accounted for: Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Neville, from Gryffindor, and Luna Lovegood, from Ravenclaw, were back in school, each with varying amounts of damage, though only Ron and Hermione had spent much time mending in the hospital wing; Ron had to take some potions to cure the red welts left by the brain tentacles, while Hermione was required to take a whole array of potions to counteract the effects of Dolohov's curse.

The idea that something had happened to Harry — something the adults weren't telling them, was…disturbing. Hermione had brooded over the idea, but had not spoken it aloud to anyone. Now that Ron had, though, perhaps it was worth discussing.

"Perhaps," she said, "we should just go ask them what they know."

"Who?" Ginny asked, looking over at her. "You mean Mum and Dad? Already tried it."

"You _did_?" Ron jerked upright at hearing this. "Whyn't you tell us!? What happened?"

"It wasn't _me_, Ron," Ginny said, impatiently. "Fred and George had a go at Mum a couple of nights ago, after they closed shop for the night. Tried to worm it out of her by saying they wanted to invite him to the grand opening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

"What did she say?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"Nothing," Ginny shrugged. "According to Fred and George, she just said, 'Well, I'm sure he'll turn up sooner or later."

This remark from Mrs. Weasley's was greeted with several seconds of shocked silence. Then Ron said, "Go on and pull the other one!"

"No," Ginny shook her head emphatically. "That's what they told me she said. If anything's happened to Harry, I don't think she knows."

"What about Dad?" Ron said suddenly. "Did they take a turn with him, then?"

Ginny nodded glumly. "No joy there, either. Dad just said that Harry was off 'doing something' for Dumbledore, and that he'd be back as soon as he could." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "You know Fred an' George can always tell when Dad's lying," she said, in a stage whisper. "But they said he didn't blink an eye when he told them that."

Hermione was thinking furiously. "So let's assume for a moment that's true — Harry is off doing something for Dumbledore, mission unknown. It wouldn't be for the Order of the Phoenix — he's not seventeen yet, and they won't let in anyone who hasn't reached that age. What else could it be for?"

"Something we don't have a bloody clue about, I reckon!" Ron snapped.

"Thank you, Mister Obvious," Ginny snarked at him. "That doesn't help!"

"Maybe it does," Hermione disagreed, and Ron grinned smugly at his sister, who rolled her eyes and turned away to look at Hermione.

"So what are you thinking?" she asked.

"I'm thinking," Hermione said, her expression like someone whose thoughts are far away or focused on a singular goal, "that we need to talk to the last person we know Harry had dealings with — Professor Dumbledore."

"Hmm," Ron said, after several moments of silence. "That sounds like a good plan, except I think I see a small flaw in it."

Hermione blinked, and her eyes focused on Ron. "And what is that?" she asked, coolly.

"Well," Ron said, matter-of-factly, "considering that it's just now the second week of July —" (it was a Monday) "— and that we're not allowed to attend meetings of the Order of the Phoenix, _even if_ they were still being held at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, which they aren't," he pointed out. "Then the first chance we'll have of seeing Professor Dumbledore is at the start-of-term feast at Hogwarts, on September first. That's almost _two months_ away!" He threw up his hands in frustration. "_Anything_ could happen to Harry in that time — he might even really get killed between now and then!"

Ginny looked at Hermione. "I hate to admit it," she said, "but he's got a point."

"Damn _straight_ I got a point," Ron said, irritably. "So what about that, Miss Smartest-Witch-of-Her-Age?"

"I wish you would stop saying that," Hermione said plaintively. Ron had taken to calling her that since they'd gotten together at the Burrow, trying to goad her into thinking of a way to find Harry.

"Well, I wish you'd get cracking on figuring out a way to find Harry," Ron shot back.

"I already have," Hermione pointed out. "I'm going to ask Dumbledore."

Ron grimaced. "We can't afford to _wait_ that long!" he said, loudly, as if volume equaled correctness. Perhaps in Ron's mind, it did.

"We're not going to wait," Hermione told him. Without another word she got up and went over to her trunk, opened it, and took out a sheet of parchment. She went over to Ginny's writing desk, sat down, took out a quill and began writing. Ginny and Ron looked at each other, Ron with raised eyebrow, as if to ask "What's she writing?" Ginny just shrugged.

"What are you writing?" Ron finally asked aloud, when he could no longer stand the suspense.

"Wait for it," was Hermione's response. Ron started to get up, to go over and read what she was writing, but Hermione's arm swung around, a finger pointed at his chair, and said "Sit!" Ron hurriedly sat back down.

"Good boy," Ginny muttered, grinning.

"Oh, shut it," Ron growled under his breath.

A few minutes later Hermione capped the ink bottle and stuck the quill back in its holder, fanning what she'd just written with one hand to dry the ink more quickly. She walked back over to the bed and handed the parchment to Ginny. "See what you think of this," she said. Ginny took the parchment and began reading.

* * *

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_I am writing to you on behalf of Ron Weasley and myself. We have both had unusual experiences over the last few days and thought you should know about them. Both Ron and I have had dreams about Harry Potter._

_I've dreamed that I can hear Harry calling to me, but I cannot see him. He is saying, "Hermione, help me! Hermione, please come get me!" I call his name and ask where he is, but he doesn't answer._

_When I told Ron about my dream he said he said he had a very similar dream as well. I don't know what this means, but I wanted to let you know about it, hoping you might be able to tell us. It is very disturbing, to say the least!_

_I hope you will be able to shed some light on Harry's situation, if you are able. Ron and I are very worried about him. Thank you for taking the time to read this._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

* * *

Ginny looked up from the parchment, her eyes aglow with excitement. "Brilliant!" she said.

"D'you think Dumbledore will fall for that?" Ron asked, dubious. "I mean, that both you and I had the _same_ dream?"

"Why not?" Hermione asked, some tartness in her tone. "Do you think he'll assume I'm _lying_?"

"Well…no," Ron had to admit. "But maybe it looks a bit too, well, _convenient_ that we've had dreams about Harry and we want to know where he is. I mean, _everybody_ wants to know where he is! We had people ask us every day the last few days of school, 'Where's Harry gone?' Even that stupid git Malfoy tried to tell me Harry had been expelled, expecting I'd tell him what _really_ happened to him!"

Ginny and Hermione were both staring at him. When he finally finished speaking, Ginny turned to Hermione and said, "Well, I _still_ think it's brilliant, and it's definitely worth having a go. The worst Dumbledore can do is ignore you, or tell you he doesn't know anything, and we both know he wouldn't do either of those things!"

"Right," said Hermione. She went back to the desk and rolled the parchment into a tight scroll, then slid it into a small cylindrical tube with a tether on one end. "Ron, do you mind if we borrow Pigwidgeon?"

"No, that's fine," Ron said, amusement and resignation in his voice. "I guess Dumbledore can't do much more than expel us for lying to him, can he?" He sat up and whistled loudly, then called out "_Pig, c'mere_!"

They heard the flutter of wings and an excited hooting, and moments later Ron's tiny owl zoomed into the room, hooting at them as it circled them several times before landing on Ron's shoulder. He hooted happily, rubbing his head against Ron's ear, before Ron said to him, "Hermione's got a letter for you to deliver."

As if on cue, the owl fluttered over to Ginny's desk, where he held out one of his tiny legs for Hermione to fasten the tube containing the letter onto. "The letter is for Professor Dumbledore," she told the small, exuberantly hooting Scops owl. "See that he gets it as soon as possible," she added. "And mind you, wait to see if he wants to send a reply back with you. Right, then, off you go!" Pig hooted again and immediately took off, flying happily around the room until Ginny stood and opened the window beside her bed. The tiny owl shot through the open window and was gone.

"Well, now we'll see," Hermione said, giving a smile she didn't quite feel. Surely Ron was dead wrong about Dumbledore expelling them for Hogwarts, when it turned out there was no dream and she'd made the whole thing up just to trick him. Surely…

---

But two days later, Pig had still not returned, and Ron was becoming worried, in spite of the fact that the little owl's manic behavior tended to irritate him. "I wish I'd thought of sending you, Hedwig," he told Harry's snowy owl, whom he'd brought to the Burrow along with Harry's trunk from school. Hedwig, for her part, gave an annoyed hoot; the little owl had been gone from Ron's room for two hunts now; it had obviously been given an important task, and Hedwig sensed that it had to do with Harry. If she could speak, she'd have agreed wholeheartedly with Ron's wish.

Ron made his way down the staircases to the first floor, where Ginny's bedroom was. The door was ajar, and he could see Hermione and Ginny sitting on her bed, talking quietly. He rapped his knuckles softly on the door, and they looked over at him. "Is Pigwidgeon back?" Hermione asked as soon as she saw him.

"Nope," Ron shook his head, entering the room. "I know it takes a while, flying from Devon to Hogwarts and back, but it seems like even Pig could've done it by now. I hope nothing's happened to him…"

"Hermione! Ron! You have a visitor downstairs!" Mrs. Weasley suddenly called up the staircase from the ground floor. They looked at each other in surprise.

"D'you think it could be Harry?" Ron said, hopefully.

"Let's find out!" Hermione said, already running past him. Ron and Ginny fell in behind her and the three of them raced down the steps and through the passageway leading to the kitchen. Who they found once they had entered the kitchen, however, was _not_ Harry.

Mrs. Weasley was standing, hands on hips, glowering at the three of them (even Hermione, she noticed with a bit of apprehension). But when she spoke, it was with more disappointment than anger. "I don't know what you were thinking, dear," she said to Hermione. "Writing letters to Professor Dumbledore about _dreams_, of all things! The man has more important things to think about!"

"Molly, it's quite all right," a deep voice spoke from behind her. "I understand their concerns." Professor Dumbledore stepped up behind Mrs. Weasley; as he did so, a small brown rocket zoomed past him and began circling Ron, hooting excitedly.

"Pig!" Ron exclaimed. "You're back!" He held up his arm and the tiny Scops owl landed on it, hooting contentedly.

"I hope you don't mind, Ron," Dumbledore told him. "But I had your owl stay with me until I could find an opportunity to visit you. I did expect to be here before now, but he'd made such a grand effort getting Miss Granger's letter to me that I thought he could use a bit of a rest."

"Uh, sure, Professor, sir," Ron said, not really knowing what else to say.

"Now, about that letter," Dumbledore said softly, touching the tip of his nose. "Might we retire to the sitting room and discuss it?"

"Um…yes," Hermione said. She was as much caught off guard as Ron had been. Well, hope for the best, plan for the worst, was always her motto. She, Ron and Ginny all turned back toward the hallway leading to the sitting room.

"Ginny, you stay here," Mrs. Weasley said sternly. "This doesn't concern you!"

"But Mum!" Ginny spun around with a look of outraged persecution on her face. "I was there when they wrote it!"

"Indeed?" Professor Dumbledore asked, looking at the youngest Weasley. "So you were in on it, too?"

Hermione, Ron and Ginny all froze. "Umm…" Ginny said, trying to come up with something believable.

But before she could say anything, Dumbledore shook his white-haired head in dismissal. "Wait, that came out wrong — I meant to say, you were there when they wrote it?"

Ron swallowed; he'd been on the verge of saying it was all a lie. Hermione smiled gamely, trying to keep any surprise or guilt off her face, and Ginny, glancing at both of them quickly, said, "Uh, yes sir, that's what I just said."

"Mind the cheek, Ginevra," Mrs. Weasley said, warningly.

"Quite all right, Molly," Dumbledore said, pleasantly. "She did actually say it — I'm perhaps getting a bit forgetful in my later years." He extended an arm, gesturing for all of them to go into the sitting room. "It will be fine if Miss Weasley wants to sit in on my conversation with Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger."

Without a word the three Hogwarts students made their way into the sitting room, a cozy but somewhat drab room at the front of the house with several oil lamps hung at various locations along the walls. Around the fireplace, which was situated at mid-room along the north wall, was a sagging armchair and an old but comfortable couch. Next to the fireplace was the Wizards' Wireless set that the family gathered round during holidays.

Dumbledore stepped in front of the armchair, gesturing toward the couch for Ron, Hermione and Ginny to take a seat. After they all sat down, Dumbledore looked at each of them, a pleasant if somewhat fixed smile upon his face. "Well, this is quite comfortable," he said, of the armchair. "I wonder if Molly would be willing to trade for one of the chairs in my office?" Ron and Hermione looked askance at one another. Ron's expression said, _D'you think he's really asking _us_ that question_? Hermione just shrugged.

"Well, no matter," Dumbledore continued. "I seldom have time to enjoy a good armchair these days anyway. I tend to fall asleep in them. Perhaps we should push on to the matter at hand."

"Yes, sir," Hermione said, then added, hesitantly, "I hope it wasn't too much trouble for you to come see us, Professor. Ron and I haven't heard anything from Harry —"

"Beyond the dreams you and he have had, I presume you mean," Dumbledore interjected.

"Um, right," Hermione said, feeling guilty.

"I would like to discuss these dreams in detail," Dumbledore went on, and Ron started feeling panicky — he and Hermione had never gone into detail about what was in these dreams! He got even more nervous when Dumbledore looked at him and said, "Mr. Weasley, will you tell me everything that transpired during your dreams about Harry?"

"Ahhh — okay, er — well…" Ron tried to imagine what kind of details he should put into such a dream, but before he could say anything Hermione put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"Professor," she said in a timid voice. "I need to tell you something about the dreams." When Dumbledore gestured for her to continue, she screwed up her courage and said, "there _weren't_ any dreams. Ron and I — well, just me, I guess — made them up."

"Ah, I see," Dumbledore said, peering at all three of them over his half-moon spectacles. "Is that correct, Mr. Weasley?" he asked, looking at Ron.

"Er — well, yeah," Ron said, relieved that Hermione had confessed before the professor asked them point-blank if they were lying. "But we _are_ concerned about Harry, you know."

"Yes," Hermione added. "We haven't seen him since that night in the Ministry of Magic!"

Dumbledore nodded. "I understand your concern," he said, looking at each of them in turn, including Ginny, who nodded to indicate she shared Ron and Hermione's anxiety over Harry. "And I apologize for not anticipating your concern. At the time, I considered it a private matter between Harry and myself. I see now that I should have included you, his best friends, so that you would be more cognizant of his condition."

That didn't bode well. Ron and Hermione glanced at one another, now more worried than before. Hermione looked at Ginny; she could feel the youngest Weasley's concern as plainly as her own, but Ginny's expression of sisterly concern was a mask concealing her true emotions.

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he seemed to gather his thoughts before speaking. "I'm sure that you are all aware by now what transpired between Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange, that evening in the Department of Mysteries."

Each of the three Hogwarts students nodded — they'd had that dreadful news from Tonks as well, who told them what Remus had related to her: Sirius and Bellatrix were dueling, Sirius on the archway dais, laughing and taunting Bellatrix, when one of her spells struck him in the chest, causing him to fall through the veil that shrouded the arch. Harry had watched him fall through, had tried to go through after him, but was restrained by Dumbledore and Lupin.

Afterwards, Harry had chased Bellatrix to the Atrium, though she escaped, destroying the visitor's entrance in the process, with Voldemort's help. However, Minister Fudge was now convinced that Voldemort had returned, and had given a statement to the _Daily Prophet_ for the next day's paper.

"I talked with Harry, back in my office, afterwards," Dumbledore concluded. "He was very upset about what had happened. He believes that, because Sirius was still living when he passed through the veil, that it might be possible for him to return."

"_Is_ it possible, sir?" Hermione asked.

"No one has ever done so, unaided," Dumbledore replied. "However, that does not mean that it is impossible."

"You said no one has done so unaided, Professor," Ginny piped up. "Does that mean someone was able to do it with some kind of assistance?"

"I know of studies where tests were made with a tethered subject, which passed through the veil and was then pulled back, but no animal larger than a Kneazle has ever returned alive. Of course, the Ministry would not allow such tests with human subjects."

"So, what's this got to do with Harry?" Ron asked, then hastened to add, "if you don't mind me asking, Professor," when Hermione turned to stare at him, startled by his rudeness.

"Harry wanted to find a way to retrieve Sirius from beyond the veil. I gave him the name of some colleagues of mine who live out of country, who I thought Harry might be able to discuss the problem with, for their take on possible solutions.

"More importantly, however," Dumbledore continued, his voice quiet but still clearly heard by all of them, "Harry needed time to grieve, and heal, and to understand that the chances of Sirius being able to return are slim at best."

"Can we go see him?" Ginny asked, and both Ron and Hermione brightened at the idea, nodding agreement, but Dumbledore shook his head.

"I hope you'll not think me uncaring, or callous," he said, with a measure of contriteness in his voice as Hermione's expression of hopeful expectation turned to disappointment, Ron scowled, and Ginny's expression became almost mutinous. "But I think that, if Harry has not contacted you — he hasn't, has he?" They all shook their heads. "I believe when the time is ripe for his return, he will do so. When that will be, however, even I cannot say."

Dumbledore stood, and the three students came to their feet as well. "I trust I have answered all of your questions?" he asked them, smiling.

"Do Mum and Dad know all this?" Ginny asked. "Mum seemed to think Harry was off on some kind of lark or something, not searching for a way to bring back Sirius Black."

"I told them only that Harry needed some time alone," Dumbledore replied. "I perhaps should have been more straightforward with them as well, but at the time, I thought it would be up to Harry whether he wanted discuss the matter of Sirius Black with anyone."

"Well, Professor — thank you, for giving us this information," Hermione said. "And — I'm sorry I tried to trick you into telling us what was really going on with Harry."

"Quite all right, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, placidly. "Your concerns were valid, and I should have addressed them sooner. For not doing so, you have _my_ apology.

"Now," he went on briskly. "I should be getting back to the school — I must make some inquiries into locating another Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Professor Umbridge has decided not to return for the coming year."

"Thank Merlin for that!" Ron exclaimed, then covered his mouth. "Oops. Sorry, Professor."

"Unfortunately," Dumbledore said, glancing around the room. "I've gone temporarily deaf and cannot hear a thing." He stuck a finger in his ear and twisted it. "Ah, there! It's working again. Well, I must be going, after I thank Molly for her hospitality. I will see you all on September first, if not before then." Dumbledore turned and strode from the room.

They heard him speaking with Mrs. Weasley, then the back door opened and closed. Ron looked at Hermione. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," she said, slowly. "I can't believe Harry would go off somewhere like that without telling one of us."

"Well, he did just lose Sirius," Ron pointed out. "I remember he was pretty upset when Cedric Diggory got killed, at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. It must've been a hundred times worse losing his godfather!"

"Mum cried for weeks after Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon were killed," Ginny remembered.

Hermione dithered, unsure what to think. "Well," she said at last, "it _was_ horrible when Cedric was killed — we know Harry was very upset at that, as well as You-Know-Who coming back…"

"I guess…we ought to give him a bit more time, then?" Ron ventured.

Hermione nodded, but unhappily. She couldn't dismiss the notion that there was something deeper going on here. But they just didn't have enough information to figure it out, yet. Soon, hopefully, Harry would come back. Or they'd hear from him, and could go to wherever he was.

Meanwhile, Professor Dumbledore, having thanked Mrs. Weasley for her hospitality (they had shared a cup of tea before Ron, Hermione and Ginny came downstairs) had walked out the back door of the Burrow and upon reaching the edge of the protection spells on the house, vanished.

However, he did not reappear at the gates of Hogwarts, but outside The Three Broomsticks, in Hogsmeade, the only all-wizard village in Great Britain. He entered, gave a cheery wave to Madam Rosemerta, then walked over to a table in the corner and sat down across from the man he'd come to see. The man gave him a wan smile; he was a bit tired from the amount of research he'd been doing lately. His clothes, while second-hand, were less shabby than they'd been in the past, partly due to the stipend he was given for his work on the Order of the Phoenix — he was currently the only full-time member, other than Professor Dumbledore himself. "Hello, Albus," he said, in a tired voice. "How'd it go with them?"

"Very well, Remus," Dumbledore nodded. "I regret it was necessary to mislead them. However, for now I see no other recourse."

"Neither do I. By the way, would you like something to drink?" Remus asked. There were two empty butterbeer bottles on the table in front of Lupin; his hand was wrapped around a third bottle.

"You're already well ahead of me Remus," Dumbledore smiled. "But I think I might indulge myself tonight."

Remus nodded and drained the bottle of butterbeer he was holding, then signaled to Rosemerta, and she came over. "I'll have another butterbeer," he said, "and whatever the Headmaster here wants."

Rosemerta gave Dumbledore a warm smile. "Are you drinking with us tonight, Headmaster?"

"I hope so," Dumbledore said. "Can you make a — a cherry limeade?"

Rosemerta chuckled softly. "Another Muggle drink?"

"I hear they're quite tasty," Dumbledore said, thoughtfully. "I admit a certain curiosity in juxtaposing the flavor of cherry and lime together as well."

"A cherry limeade it is, then," Rosemerta said, merrily. "And if it looks good perhaps I'll have one as well! I'll have your butterbeer out in a second," she said to Lupin, then went to find the recipe in one of her shelves filled with books on mixology and potion-making.

After she left, Lupin sighed, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against his hands. "Remus," Dumbledore said, with some concern in his voice. "I do not wish you to overwork yourself, even on this assignment."

"I know," Lupin said, waving a hand dismissively. "I've just done a lot of reading today, my eyes are tired. I wish Harry hadn't taken that book!"

"I admit I was surprised by that as well," Dumbledore agreed. "The Sturulson book would have been a good source of information concerning the Aesir. I'm not sure why Harry took it — he cannot read runes, so the book is useless to him, unless he can find someone to translate it. I've already alerted members of the Confederation of Wizards who can read ancient runes to get in touch with me if Harry attempts to contact any of them."

"What I'm worried about," Lupin said softly, "Is what might happen if Voldemort figures out who attacked him when he and Bellatrix escaped from the Ministry of Magic. I'm sure he would stop at nothing to obtain the kind of power that Harry now wields."

"Undoubtedly," Dumbledore agreed. At that moment Rosemerta appeared with a tray containing a bottle of butterbeer, and a tall, perspiring glass of bubbly liquid. She placed the bottle in front of Remus and the glass in front of Dumbledore. He looked at it with some interest.

"Have a sip," Rosemerta suggested. "Tell me what you think."

Dumbledore picked up the glass and took a small sip. He considered for a moment, then took another. Smiling, he set the glass down and turned to Rosemerta. "Excellent!" he said. "It's delightful. Very refreshing. The cherries do add an interesting dimension to the lime taste."

"I'll take that as your official approval, then," Rosemerta said. "I'll add it to the drink list. I think I'll call it Dumbledore's Delight," she laughed.

"Oh dear," Dumbledore said, "It's been some time since I blushed at the words of a pretty, young woman, Rosemerta."

Rosemerta giggled self-consciously. "You old smoothie," she said, winking at him. She gathered up the empty butterbeer bottles in front of Lupin, then said, "If you want another one, it's on the house — I made enough to fill three glasses getting all the ingredients worked out." She turned and walked back to the bar. Remus idly watched her hips sway as she walked away. Dumbledore noted this but made no comment.

"Will you be able to make it home tonight, or perhaps a stay in one of Madam Rosemerta's rooms is in order?" Dumbledore suggested.

Lupin smiled. "I've only had three — well, now four — butterbeers, Albus," he said, draining the last bottle. "It's not like I've been drinking firewhiskey, you know."

Dumbledore smiled. Lupin was in no way impaired, but the butterbeers had left him with a pleasant buzz, and his Occlumency guards were down. The headmaster had suspected some deeper problems had made Lupin more tense lately, and he'd caught a few snatches of thoughts — of pink hair and a young, cheerful face. "Of course not, Remus — I only thought that if you were tired, it might be better to take a room here than Apparate home."

Lupin shrugged. "I don't know — perhaps. At least I wouldn't have to worry about Apparating to and from London for one day. It's a damned nuisance not being able to use headquarters until we get the situation with Harry resolved." Sirius's will had been found, and when the members of the Order realized he'd willed number twelve Grimmauld Place to Harry, the question of true ownership had come up. Not wanting to risk intrusion by Bellatrix, who would be the first person in line to inherit the house, assuming some enchantment prohibited Sirius willing the family residence to a non-Black descendant, the Order had hastily retreated from the building, setting up a temporary headquarters at the Burrow.

"I agree wholeheartedly," Dumbledore said, then reached into his robe and took out his twelve-handed timepiece. Glancing at it, he murmured, "It is nearly time I was in bed. Tomorrow will be a busy day."

"What are you doing?" Remus asked, stifling a yawn.

"Searching for a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore said. "And some other business as well, not worth mentioning."

"I suppose not," Lupin smiled. Most things that Dumbledore considered "not worth mentioning" were things he wasn't going to talk about anyway, Lupin had learned. "Well, I suppose I will see about getting a room here for the night, and I will see you in the morning, Headmaster."

"Excellent, Remus," Dumbledore stood, as did Lupin, and they shook hands. Remus walked over to the bar, to talk to Rosemerta, and Dumbledore stepped out into the night, heading along the path that led to the gates of Hogwarts. Soon, hopefully very soon, they would learn what had become of Harry Potter.

***

When Harry stepped through the arch Odin's spear had created, he found himself standing on what seemed to be solid light. Below him a shimmering array of colors glowed and sparkled as it rose upward in the sky, looking like a gigantic rainbow arching up above them.

Next to him, Odin had stepped through the arch as well, and was watching his awestruck expression with amusement. "This is Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge," he told Harry as the young Gryffindor squinted to try and see the far end. "It is the only connection between Midgard — what we call your world — and Asgard, the home of the Aesir."

"It's — it's pretty amazing," Harry said. They began walking, and though Harry had the impression that he was walking up a steep incline, as the bridge rose almost straight into the sky, he could sense no upward motion in his walk. "How far do we have to go?"

"Not far," Odin replied as he strode along, making Harry almost run to keep up with him. "Bifrost looks long, but it will take us but a minute or so to cross it." And he was right, Harry saw, for not long after Odin finished speaking Harry saw the blueness they were walking towards turn to blue and green as they approached what appeared to be solid ground once again, under a brilliant azure sky. The Rainbow Bridge seemed to dip and disappear into the ground. Next to that spot stood a man, dressed in Norse clothing of leather and furs, with a horned helmet on his head and a very large sword at his side.

"Well met, Allfather," he said, bowing as Odin approached him.

"Well met, faithful Heimdall," Odin replied. "How fares Asgard?"

"Very well, my lord," Heimdall said, turning to look at the hills and trees and mountains behind them. "The Einherjar hone their fighting skills by day, and their feasting skills by night —" both men laughed at this "— and there have even been a few new men to join their ranks. Asgard will be pleased to see you have returned. How fares your search?"

In reply Odin reached beneath his cloak and brought out Mjolnir. "Ah!" Heimdall cried. "Thor's hammer! Did you find him, my lord?"  
Odin shook his head once. "No, though I did find a young lad who may be able to help us do that." He gestured toward Harry and said, "May I present to you, the wizard Harry Potter."

Harry, not knowing what else to do, nodded toward the tall man. "How do you do, sir?"

"Harry," Odin told him, "this is Heimdall, the guardian of the Rainbow Bridge. He will warn us when our enemies attempt to cross the bridge, to attack."

Harry looked back along the bridge, which seemed to fall away behind him into a darkening blue sky. Privately, he wondered who on Earth would try to attack this place across this bridge. "I…see," he said slowly. He looked around — except for a large building resembling a small castle standing nearby, there was nothing around except hills, beyond which he could see several mountains, all covered by numerous trees of many types. A rough path led away from them, disappearing into the hills and trees beyond. "Who's he going to warn?" Harry asked. "And how?"

"I will sound the Gjallarhorn, young sir," Heimdall said evenly. He pointed over the mountains. "It will be heard to the farthest reaches of Asgard, Vanaheim and Alfheim. And beyond." When Harry did not react to this statement with other than a blank stare, Heimdall frowned. "Do you not know our ways, young wizard —?"

"He does not," Odin spoke before Harry could answer. "That is why I have brought him here — to show him why we must find Thor and return his hammer to him.

"I will send word," Odin continued. He raised a hand in the air. Suddenly, from nowhere, a raven landed on his hand. "Go, Huginn," he told it, "and whisper in the ears of all the Aesir and Vanir that we will hold a _thing_ today." The raven seemed to nod, then leapt into the air once again. It seemed to fade from sight as it flew away.

"Come, Harry," Odin said, beckoning to him. "Before we reach Yggdrasil, the World-Tree, where all gather to discuss the affairs of men and the nine worlds, I would walk with you and show you the glory of Asgard."

He and Harry began walking down the path leading through the hills and forests of Asgard. "I said before," Odin said, more quietly than he had spoken in some time, "that you did not understand my plight."

"I remember, sir," Harry said. It was hard to imagine a person of Odin's power having a plight he couldn't handle, though from what Harry understood he had not seen his son since before 1962, and could not find him even now. "Does it have to do with your son, Thor?"

"It does," Odin nodded, his one eye watching Harry steadily. "But not directly. "Thor is the sworn protector of both Asgard and Midgard — Earth. With him not present in Asgard for so long, our enemies mutter and plot our downfall."

"Enemies?" Harry said, almost surprised. "I suppose I get what you're talking about, sir — there are people who want to kill _me_ — but even when I had the power of Thor you were easily able to take it away from me. Do you have enemies even more powerful than _Thor_?"

"Few are stronger than Thor, whose strength comes from the union of Asgard and Midgard — his strength exceeds any of the Aesir except my own. Yet," Odin admitted, "there are some who can match him in other ways. Here is a case in point." He stopped next to a tall yew tree. "Do you see this tree?" Harry nodded.

"Long ago," Odin continued, "In Jotunheim I fought a duel with a giant king named Laufey, who challenged my rulership of Asgard. I slew him in hard-fought battle; afterward, I returned with his body to his stronghold, to make a treaty with the remaining giants. Within this stronghold I found a young boy, who said he was Laufey's son, Loki. Though he was no larger than a normal boy, he claimed the right to duel with me, to avenge his father's death. I was impressed by his courage, so I made a bargain with him: I would take him with me back to Asgard and make him my son, next in line to rule Asgard, after my sons Thor and Balder. He agreed to go with me."

"That was very generous of you, sir," Harry said, then glanced at the yew tree. "But what does that have to do with this tree?"

"I'll get to that in a moment," Odin said, and Harry smiled slightly — it reminded him of Professor Dumbledore's sometimes-rambling stories, told when he wanted to make a point with a hundred words when ten would do. "Loki became my foster son, alongside my sons Thor and Balder, but while both of them were much beloved of the Aesir — Thor for his strength and courage, Balder for his beauty and for the happiness he created wherever he went in Asgard, Loki was not so well-beloved."

"Why not?" Harry asked. "Was he not grateful to you for making him your son?"

"I thought so at the time," Odin said heavily, glancing at the yew tree they stood before. "But Loki was a precocious child, given to playing pranks and tricks on his brothers and their friends. He was a very intelligent boy, very unlike his brethren, the giants, but he was unlike them in many ways. He could not fight, nor was he even interested in battles or victories, it seems, which all the Aesir hold in high regard. He was fair to look upon, but his heart was against me, because of the death of his father, though Laufey hid him away in his stronghold, ashamed to show him to other giants because of his short stature. He publicly disdained the learning of magic, which he called 'woman's work,' because most giant men do not practice the subtle arts, yet by the time he had grown to manhood he was an accomplished sorcerer. And as his mischief grew ever more malicious, I turned (if you will pardon the expression) a blind eye toward it, because I believed he would 'grow out of it.' I was wrong."

The tone of remorse in Odin's voice gave Harry momentary pause. "Did something bad happen?" he asked, guessing to himself that the answer was yes.

Odin nodded. "After my son Thor was given Mjolnir, for proving his worthiness to wield it, Loki became even more withdrawn and sullen. My other son, Balder, attempted to cheer him up, but Loki would not be consoled. He kept on playing ever more dangerous tricks among the people, who spoke against him, and I was forced to punish him more and more severely. Meanwhile, my son Thor became more and more arrogant because of his victories over the giants. He became, in a way, even worse than Loki, because while Loki has cause to hate me, his father's killer, my own son became disdainful of his father, going off on adventures to Midgard for years at a time, his head swelling with the worship of the Norseman and Germanic tribes. When he last returned from Midgard, about a thousand years ago, I forbade him to return there until he learned humility and compassion once again."

"A thousand _years_?" Harry gasped. "I didn't realize you had such long lives! But, if you wouldn't let Thor go back to Earth, how did he end up there?"

"It is a long tale," Odin sighed. The yew tree before them seemed to shiver as a cool wind blew by them, and Harry turned away from the wind, wincing at the sudden chill. "Let us be on our way, I will tell you the story as we walk."

They set off down the path again. Harry, still curious about the yew tree, turned to look back at it, just as a gust of wind blew past him. Several flat, thin leaves from the tree whisked past his face — one slid under his glasses and against one of his eyes. Blinking rapidly, his eye tearing up, Harry turned back quickly to Odin's side.

"Not very long ago," Odin continued, "only a matter of 40 years or thereabouts, Thor had once again grown arrogant and indolent. He spoke of returning to Midgard to recruit more worshippers, saying he wished to bring more souls to the Einherjar for the final battle. Yet I knew he spoke falsely — his desire was only that he receive praise and glory. He cared little for the protection of Midgard — or Asgard, for that matter. I finally determined that he must learn humility.

"I told Thor I would allow him to return to Earth, but as he left I placed an enchantment on him and his hammer that removed his strength and other abilities and placed them within Mjolnir. His body became that of a weak, lame human, and I took Mjolnir, used its enchantment to disguise it as a walking stick, and placed it within the cave where you and I first spoke, Harry. The enchantment I placed on Mjolnir would restore the power of Thor to the person worthy of holding it who struck it against the earth. Thor now believed himself to be a human named Donald Blake, a young man attending medical school, and I intended him to learn those arts in order for him to rekindle his compassion and empathy for others, so he would once again wield Mjolnir righteously, for the protection of Asgard and Midgard.

"Yet somehow, thirty-four years ago, my ravens Huginn and Muninn, while flying over the world of Midgard, lost sight of Blake when he traveled with another human to Norway on holiday, after he had gone into the cave where I'd hidden Mjolnir. He never came out, and I had no idea where he'd gone until I felt the power of Thor kindled again, a few weeks ago. I returned to Norway to search for him, and found you instead."

By now Harry and Odin were clear of the woodland path they'd followed, moving deeper into Asgard, and had come to a large, golden hall at the edge of a large plain surrounded by hills and forest. "Behold, Valhalla!" Odin said, proudly, pointing to the golden hall. But Harry only had eyes for what he saw happening upon the nearby plain — things that made him stop and stare in stunned disbelief.

The plain was filled with hundreds, perhaps thousands of men, each hacking and stabbing at one another with swords, spears, war hammers and even clubs. There were shouts and war cries, shrieks and screams, both in anger, triumph, and pain, as the fighting roiled on, the largest battle Harry had ever seen, even on the telly with war movies on, ones Dudley liked to watch. "What — what's going on here?" he asked Odin, who was watching the carnage with an approving eye.

"These are the Einherjar," Odin said, spreading his arms proudly to encompass all the men on the field. They practice daily on this field, the plain Vigrior, upon which it is foretold that we will meet the sons of Muspell and their allies for the final battle. They are all brave men who died in battle, brought here by my shield maidens, the Valkyries, to practice their art in preparation for that day."

"Foretold," Harry said, wincing as he saw a warrior run through with a sword. "That had to leave a mark," he muttered as the warrior fell over, but then looked on in surprise as the man jumped to his feet again, laughing, and continued the fight against his erstwhile opponent. "Whoa," he said, pointing. "That guy just got up again, after being run through by a sword!"

"Of course!" Odin laughed merrily. "One cannot kill a man who is already dead, Harry!"

"If they're dead," Harry wondered, "how can they still be walking around? I thought it was impossible to raise the dead!"

"Things are different here in Asgard, Harry," Odin told him. "We are not in the earthly realm any more. Here the souls of the Aesir are as substantial as their bodies were, in life, made so by my power. The men of Earth who have been gathered here are made substantial as well, as hardy as any Aesir, and as capable of battle."

"With all these men to fight for you," Harry wondered. "How much of a difference will Thor really make? I mean, if you couldn't find him, I'm not sure how much luck _I'm_ going to have! I will try to find him, but even the power of his hammer seems small compared to your power, and the forces you have here."

Odin stared at Harry for several long moments, his blue eye boring into Harry's green ones, then gestured for him to follow. The walked along the plain for some time, finally turning away to walk up a hill toward a building at its top, a building that seemed constructed from shining silver. "This is my throne hall, Valaskjalf," he told Harry as they entered. He led Harry through the hall to where a dais stood; upon it was a throne of finely engraved silver. He and Harry walked up the steps of the dais to the throne, where Odin took his seat. "From here, Harry, I can see all that happens here in Asgard or on Midgard. I have sat on this throne, every day, for the past 34 years, watching over Midgard for a sign of my son Thor. When I first saw you, you were flying over the sea toward Norway — my heart leapt with joy, thinking that you had at last made your way again to your ancient home land from the New World. I came to Earth, tracking you for nearly two weeks before we met in the cave where Thor was conceived and born. You can imagine my disappointment upon finding that you were _not_ my son."

Harry nodded. He'd been on the receiving end of some of Odin's disappointment, and was grateful that he'd survived it!

Odin stood and stepped away from his chair, walking up to and placing his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Young Harry, Thor is important to Asgard because he is a symbol of hope to our people — hope that we will succeed, even against the sons of Muspell, on the day of the final battle when they and their allies stand against us.

"But even more than that," Odin went on, his blue eye looking intently into Harry's eyes, "I want Thor back because he is my son. Just as I know, from what my ravens have told me, that your greatest wish is to have your parents back."

"You're right," Harry said, quietly. "And it's why I want to find a way to bring my godfather Sirius Black back, if it's possible."

"I cannot make that guarantee," Odin said. "I have given the power of life and death to Hela, who rules Hel and Niflheim as their queen. Only she can restore those destined for those places back to life, and her bargains are ruthless and cruel. My own son Balder is even now in Hel, forced to stay there because he did not die in battle, but was killed through Loki's evil trickery."

"Is that what you were telling me about, back at that yew tree?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Odin said. "After I sent Thor to Earth without his memories, as Donald Blake, my son Balder began having dreams of his own death, as did his mother Frigga. She cast an incantation that called upon all objects in the realm of Asgard to do him no harm, but the one thing that she did not think to include was mistletoe, it seemed so harmless and unimportant to her.

"For some time the Aesir made sport of this protection, throwing objects at Balder to watch them bounce off without harming him. But when his stepbrother Hoder, who is blind, loosed a shaft at him with his bow, the shaft passed through Balder, striking him down!

"The Aesir called for the Valkyrie, to come and escort Balder to Valhalla, to join the Einherjar, but none of them would come, for Balder had not died in battle." Odin sighed heavily. "Hela called Balder down to Hel, to await the final battle. My youngest son Vali avenged Balder by striking Hoder dead.

"Balder's mother, Frigga, sent entreaties to Hela, asking for her terms to release Balder back to us. Hela agreed to return Balder if all beings in Asgard, Jotunheim, Hel and Niflheim would weep for him. All agreed and wept for him except a giantess named Thokk — and so Balder had to remain in Hel. But I learned that Thokk was really Loki in disguise, and that it was he who gave the arrow to Hoder, fashioned from mistletoe, the only object that could harm Balder.

"When I learned this," Odin said, his features darkening in anger, "My wrath was kindled against Loki, and I would have destroyed him, yet I did not wish to make an end of him when the fate of Thor was unknown. I bound him up into that yew tree we saw on our way here, and there he stays until the final battle, or someone weeps for him, in punishment for him not weeping for Balder."

"This Loki seems like a pretty nasty guy," Harry said, seriously. "I'm glad you have him under control!"

"Enough of him and his ilk," Odin waved a hand in contempt, dismissing further thought of him. "It is time for you to prove yourself, Harry Potter."

Harry wasn't quite sure what that meant, but he followed Odin from the hall, walking over several hills, until he caught sight of an enormous tree trunk in the distance, an ash tree whose branches seemed to disappear into the skies above Asgard. As they approached Harry could see that a great many people were gathered at the base of the tree — there seemed to be thousands there, though they still seemed tiny against the enormous trunk of the tree behind them. Even Heimdall, the guardian of the Rainbow Bridge was there, Harry saw, sitting upon an eight-legged horse!

At Odin's approach the throng fell silent, waiting for his words to begin the Thing, the meeting all had been called to attend. "Fellow Aesir! Fellow Vanir!" Odin called out loudly as he stepped into the center of the assembly, with Harry at his side. "I bring you news of Thor!" There were shouts of excitement among the crowd — many of them longed to have the son of Odin in their midst again, after so many years. "Tell us, Allfather!" "Give us your news!" people shouted from the throng.

"My children," Odin spoke, putting his hands on Harry's shoulders. "This young human has brought me a sign from Thor!" There were shouts and cries as thunder rumbled across the clear sky when Odin held Mjolnir aloft.

"But what of Thor himself? Where is he?" Some cried.

"He is still on Midgard," Odin answered. "Where he is, even I cannot say. He has been separated from his hammer, and cannot return to us."

"We will go and find him!" Some of the Aesir warriors shouted, until Odin signaled for silence.

"I have decided," Odin said, after all had fallen silent. "To allow this boy to prove his worthiness to us, to take up Mjolnir, if he can, and return to Earth to look for Thor."

"But he is a human!" one of the Aesir, a tall, muscular and imposing man with a rounded cup where his left hand should be, cried indignantly. "Why should he care aught for Thor?!"

"Silence, Tyr," Odin said sternly. "I know you covet Mjolnir for yourself, but while you have proven yourself valiant, you are not worthy to wield the Hammer of Thor."

"Then let this human prove himself!" Tyr growled, scowling at Harry, who did not look away from him, though he was certain that the man could kill him as easily as snapping a branch. "Let us see whether _he_ is worthy!"

"We shall," Odin agreed. He placed Mjolnir on the ground in front of Harry. "Harry Potter, if you are able to lift Mjolnir, you shall receive the power of Thor!"

Harry looked at the hammer laying on the ground. He had watched a Death Eater try to pick up the hammer, only to grunt and strain, unable to move it at all. But he'd been able to hold it, hadn't he? Odin must know that — he'd taken the hammer from Harry's hand, back in the cave in Norway! Would he be able to lift it now? There was only one way to find out.

Harry reached down and grasped the handle. The thong was beneath the handle, allowing him to slide his fingers around it. Now the only thing left to do was lift. Harry took a deep breath and pulled.

The hammer lifted into the air, and a roar of thunder and a flash of lightning, Harry was once again transformed into the tall, dark-haired version of the Thunderer! "All hail Thor!" the multitude shouted.

"All hail Harry Potter, wielder of Mjolnir!" Odin shouted. "May he return Thor safely to us!"

"All hail Harry Potter!" everyone shouted.

Harry, for his part, enjoyed feeling the power once again coursing through his body. Even if this was only temporary, until he found the real Thor, he would enjoy wielding the Hammer.

***

The ceremony over, the assembled Aesir dispersed back to their normal business. Heimdall rode Sleipner, Odin's eight-legged steed, back to Bifrost along the path Odin and Harry had taken. On the way back, he stopped momentarily at the yew tree where hated Loki was imprisoned.

"Soon," he told the tree, "we will have Thor back within our midst, and Odin will likely exile you back with your brethren in Jotunheim. And good riddance to you! Ptah!" He spit at the tree, then urged Sleipner onward toward the bridge.

After Heimdall was out of sight, however, a rocky formation near the yew began to flow and shift, becoming a handsome young man with golden hair, wearing fine robes and expensive jewels and gold rings. On his head was set, not a helmet, but a wreath made of mistletoe.

"Excellent," he smiled, a cruel sneer, as his gaze traveled over the yew tree that Heimdall had thought was him. "Bifrost's guardian has vision so acute he can observe grass growing and can count the pores of a man's face at 100 arrow-lengths. If he thought I was still imprisoned within the tree then I indeed created a perfect copy. Now I need only wait until the fool enters his hall for a tankard of mead, and I may steal across the Rainbow Bridge and learn what has become of my dear step-brother, Thor!"

Chuckling softly to himself, the Trickster settled down not far from the edge of Asgard, to await his chance to escape.


	4. Back  Home Again

**Harry Thunderer and the Uru Hammer**

**Chapter Four  
****"Back Home Again"**

**Updated 15 May 2010**

Emerald flames roared to life in the study's fireplace, and a pale young man, tall and blond with sharp features, stepped through a moment later, carrying a portfolio. He dropped the portfolio on the desk near the fireplace, then slumped into the chair behind it, exhausted from the hours of reading and research he had just completed. For more than a week now, he had spent most of every day pouring over ancient tomes and histories of various legendary and mythological peoples of Northern Europe and Scandinavia, looking for someone who fit a particular description — that of a tall, brawny man who wielded a short-handled war hammer.

He had found such a person several days ago, but had continued the search, to be sure that no one else from the peoples he was studying was a closer match. Finally, today, he was sure. He sighed, laying his head down on the desk on top of his crossed arms. But he sat upright only a moment later — it would not do for him to fall asleep _now_! He was sure his return home had been noticed, if not by his mother or aunt, then by the Rat, or by — _him_.

He stood, taking a deep breath to calm himself and prepare his mental defenses, meager as they were. His aunt had been showing him Occlumency techniques over the past week, since his return home, but only in fits and starts, when they had a chance to go for walks beyond the estate's grounds, out on the country lane that ran alongside the family property. That was the only place, she felt, they were safe enough from detection.

He started to take the portfolio, but decided against it. _He_ would not bother with looking at the information himself, not when he could simply look into the mind of the person who was reporting to him. Walking to the door of the study, the young man stepped into the hallway beyond.

The moment he'd exited the room, another door opened in the hallway and a tall, elegant woman emerged, blonde like the young man. Seeing him, she moved swiftly to his side, catching his arm even as he turned toward the sitting room, where he knew he was awaited by his aunt — and by _him_.

"You're home early today," the woman said, speaking so softly a person only a few feet away would have strained to hear her. She searched his features, concern in her eyes. "Are you alright, Draco?"

"I'm fine, Mother," Draco replied, his voice as low as hers. "I have information for — _him_."

"Is it the information he desires?" she asked, anxiously.

Draco didn't answer right away. He did not want his mother to worry, but he was about to tell the Dark Lord something Draco was sure he did not want to hear. "I do not know," he said at last. "All I can do is tell him what my research has uncovered, and let him decide whether to accept it or not."

"Be careful, Draco," his mother whispered urgently. "I do not want you to share in the fate your father currently endures — or worse." Lucius Malfoy, her husband and Draco's father, was in Azkaban Prison, captured by Ministry Aurors the night he and nine other Death Eaters raided the Ministry of Magic in a daring plan to trick Harry Potter into recovering the prophecy about himself and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, so they could steal it for the Dark Lord.

Instead of capturing the prophecy, however, they had dueled with Potter and five other Hogwarts students, all of whom had created more trouble than they were worth until they were defeated and Potter himself cornered in the Death Chamber. Then, somehow, Potter had been spirited away, replaced by a tall, hammer-wielding stranger who, along with a handful of interfering members of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, had captured all of the Death Eaters except for Bellatrix Lestrange who, after forcing her cousin Sirius Black through the veil, had nearly been captured by the stranger until rescued by the Dark Lord himself. With most of his inner circle captured and imprisoned, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had come here, to Malfoy Manor, and had taken over his father's lands and home. His mother, Narcissa, and his aunt Bellatrix now played host to the Dark Lord as well as one of his other follower, a pathetic worm of a man Draco thought of only as — the Rat.

"He has promised to have Father released once I secured this information for him," Draco reminded her. "That is why I've worked so hard to get this information, Mother!"

Narcissa nodded slowly. "I know, Draco," she said. She hardly dared believe it, however, knowing how the Dark Lord treated his followers, even loyal ones, and she knew he regarded Lucius as more slippery in character than many of the others. Even her own sister, Bellatrix, who was well aware of how volatile the Dark Lord's moods could be, was considered more loyal than Lucius was, though Lucius had been entrusted with one of the Dark Lord's most precious possessions — the diary of his time at Hogwarts, which Lucius had tried to use to incite terror at the school some years ago, hoping to bring about the return of the Heir of Slytherin by secreting the book amongst the school supplies of one of the Weasley brood.

The plan had backfired, however. Though several students were petrified by a monster over the course of the year, they had all been restored to normal by the end of school, and the monster never heard from again. Even worse, when Lucius went to confront Dumbledore over the incidents, he had somehow accidentally tossed an article of clothing toward their house-elf, Dobby, who'd caught it and declared himself free! The ungrateful little beast had even attacked Lucius without provocation afterwards, he had told his wife, when Lucius had warned Harry Potter to keep out of his business in the future. What became of the book, Lucius had not said.

The look on her face had given Draco pause. "Do you think he — he won't follow through on his promise, Mother?" he asked, watching her intently.

"I don't know what he'll do," she said, honestly. "I've asked your aunt to try and convince him, but I'm afraid she and your father have not always seen eye-to-eye on many matters, including your upbringing."

Draco frowned. Everyone in this family seemed to have ideas on how he should behave and think! His mother coddled him, his father always acted disappointed in him, and his aunt — well, she alternated between doting on him and ignoring him completely; he never knew whether she would help him with his Occlumency or dismiss him like a house-elf. "I need to go talk to him," he said, "and get this over with."

His mother nodded, looking worried, and Draco turned and walked slowly down the hallway to the drawing room door. He turned and looked at her, smiling wanly, then knocked softly on the door. After several moments a high, clear voice said, "Enter, young Draco." Calming his thoughts, Draco opened the door and stepped through into the room.

As usual since the Dark Lord had taken over the sitting room of Malfoy Manor, the curtains were drawn and the room kept warm with a roaring fire, even in the summer heat. As before, the Dark Lord was seated in a chair placed in front of the fireplace; his features were hidden in flickering shadows. Behind the chair, near the hearth of the fireplace, lay an enormous snake, which raised its head and hissed at him as he entered the room. Draco saw the Dark Lord's hand reach down, lazily stroking the reptile's head, and it settled back to the floor.

Two other people were already in the room: his aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, draped casually on a divan a short distance from the Dark Lord's chair, a goblet of blood wine in her hand; further away, in a corner of the room, his small, watery eyes flicking back and forth to its other occupants, was the Rat, the disgusting, pathetic worm of a man who now seemed to be the Dark Lord's second most loyal follower, after his aunt. Draco walked slowly to the center of the room and stopped, waiting for permission to speak.

"You have returned early today, Draco," the Dark Lord noted, staring steadily at him; his red eyes were just barely visible from the shadows flickering about his face. "I trust you have been making good use of Burgin's library of magic."

"Yes, my lord," Draco replied quietly. "I have identified the person you wished me to find."

"Excellent!" the Dark Lord sat upright, interested at this news. He turned to Draco's aunt. "You were correct about your nephew, Bella — it seems he may have discovered who your attacker at the Ministry of Magic was."

"I am confident he has, Master," Bellatrix answered, sipping at her goblet of wine. "Draco is quite capable, more so than those fools at old Dumbledore's school think he is."

There was a noise from another corner of the room and Draco glanced over to where it had come from. The Rat — a small, balding man with graying hair, dressed in shabby, unkempt wizard's robes, was staring at him with an expression Draco would have considered as hatred if the man wasn't also shivering in fear. Draco glanced back toward the Dark Lord, dismissing the Rat's presence from his mind.

But the Dark Lord had something to say to him as well. "So, Wormtail, it seems the information you could not find was accessible to someone after all."

"Y-yes, Master," Wormtail replied, his voice thin, almost squeaky as he nodded obsequiously at the Dark Lord. "I — I am sorry I was not able to obtain it for you. I tried, I really tried —"

"Come, Draco," the Dark Lord said, cutting off Wormtail's apology. "Tell us who the stranger was, and what you've learned about him."

"First, I studied several books describing various wizarding heroes from the past," Draco began slowly, wanting to make clear how thorough he'd been. "Especially those who'd used war hammers, enchanted or otherwise. However, the use of hammers seems confined to goblins; if they are enchanted, the spells are primarily to aid in weapons-making and other craftsmanship."

The Dark Lord lazily, but pointedly, stifled a yawn. "Very interesting. But let us cut to the heart of the matter, Draco. Who was the person who attacked your Aunt Bella and myself?"

"I believe it was —" Draco hesitated a moment "— Thor the Asgardian," he finally said, in a rush. That was not the person the Dark Lord believed had attacked them, according to his Aunt Bella, but the description fit, including the enchanted hammer that would return to his grasp when thrown.

The Dark Lord sat back in his chair, a cold smile on his thin, pale lips. "What have you learned about this person?" he asked Draco. "Tell us about him."

"Thor of Asgard was a legendary hero of a tribe of people known as the Aesir, a group of Norse warriors who also practiced magic, unlike most of the other Norse tribes in their region of Scandinavia, in what is today Finland and Norway. They were active from about fifteen to sixteen hundred years ago until about a thousand years ago, when at what seemed the height of their power, they suddenly vanished."

"Overwhelmed by hordes of Muggle Norsemen, no doubt," the Dark Lord commented. "What do your books say about that, Draco?"

"There is no information on that, my lord," Draco replied, diplomatically. "Other Norse tribes did move into their lands, and some claimed to have vanquished and killed or enslaved the Aesir, but their main city, Asgard, was never captured — it was never even found, according to many historians."

"And what of this Thor?" the Dark Lord continued. "What do the histories say about him?"

"He is the favored son of the Odin, the leader of the Aesir," Draco continued. "Both names, Thor and Odin, seem to be titles rather than names, since it is claimed that Odin ruled over Asgard for as long as it existed, and that Thor was its protector from giants and other threats. Many of the other Norse tribes hailed Thor as a great warrior, the finest Norseman who ever lived, and after Asgard disappeared legends began to circulate among the Norse that they had been taken up into the heavens, like the Christian prophet Jesus a thousand years earlier."

The Dark Lord was staring unblinkingly at Draco. He lowered his eyes, as his aunt had cautioned him — to stare too long at the Dark Lord was seen as a challenge. "So, Draco, tell me this," the snake-like man finally said. "If this Thor, or whatever his name was, disappeared over a thousand years in the past, how could he have appeared at the Ministry of Magic two weeks ago?"

Draco didn't have a ready answer for that question. "I — I don't know, my lord," he muttered.

"Oh, come now, Draco!" Voldemort said, sounding disappointed. "Surely you could hazard a guess." From the corner of his eye Draco saw his aunt lean forward, waiting for his response as well. She had told him the Dark Lord would expect answers from him, and would brook no excuses about lack of knowledge.

"It is possible," Draco speculated, grasping at various ideas he'd seen in the wizarding texts, "that this Thor has discovered the secret of immortality, and has remained alive these past thousand years.

"Or," the young blond man continued, "it may be that the magic bound up in his war hammer gives anyone holding it the powers the legendary Thor had."

"Which idea do you favor?" Voldemort demanded.

Draco desperately wished he knew the proper answer to make, the one the Dark Lord wanted to hear. But before he could answer, his aunt spoke up.

"It seems more reasonable, Master, that it was the hammer that granted its wielder the power of Thor," she said, confidently.

"Why do you think that, Bella?" Voldemort asked, coldly. Clearly, he had favored Draco's alternative idea.

"I have been studying my thoughts in the Pensieve," Bella said, gesturing to the cabinet where a stone basin was kept. "The more I watch the images of that stranger, the more familiar he seems. Especially," she added, "his eyes, which are — green."

"Meaning what, Bella?" Voldemort asked sounding annoyed — but Draco suddenly saw what his aunt meant. He gasped, and both the Dark Lord and his aunt turned toward him.

"Speak up, boy!" the Dark Lord demanded. "Do you have something to say?"

"I've looked at the image as well, my lord," Draco said, excitedly. "In the legends, Thor was always depicted with blond or red hair. Yet this stranger who attacked you and my aunt in the Department of Mysteries had jet black hair, and green eyes. Just like Harry Potter."

The Dark Lord sat back in his chair, looking almost thoughtful as he considered Draco's words. "Is that what you were thinking, Bella?" he asked after several moments.

"Yes, Master," Bellatrix said, giving Draco a look that told him she was upset with him — but for what reason he couldn't fathom. He'd simply seen where she was going with the resemblance of the stranger and beat her to it. "That was my thought as well."

"Hmm," Voldemort said, staring into the distance. "I will ponder that idea. For now, Bella, you and the boy may go. Wormtail, escort them out."

"My lord," Draco spoke up, as the Rat moved toward them. "Will you consider freeing my father from Azkaban if this idea turns out to be correct?"

"Free your father?" Voldemort seemed amused. "Your father owes me considerable penance for his misdeeds — I see no reason for him to be free until I can make proper use of him." He waved a pale, long-fingered hand at Wormtail to continue escorting them out.

Draco started to speak, but his aunt took him by the arm, and he spun to look at her. The look in her eyes was a warning — _do not press your luck, Draco_! Resentfully, he nodded fractionally, then turned toward the Dark Lord, bowing. "Thank you, my lord," he said quietly, masking his true feelings.

"Master," Bellatrix bowed as well, and Wormtail showed them out. Once it had closed, Draco angrily turned to his aunt, but she held up a hand, motioning for quiet, then led him out the front doors and up the drive to the main gate. Holding Draco's arm as they approached the gate, Bella raised her left arm and they both passed through the black metal as if it were smoke.

Once outside the gate, she spun him to face her. "How many times have I warned you not to provoke him, Draco?" Bellatrix snapped. "He's not going to free any of the others from Azkaban until he knows what he plans to do with them!"

"I thought he would keep his word," Draco said, stonily. "He has said that my finding out what he needed to know about his hammer-wielding stranger would be instrumental in getting my father freed from prison!"

"One thing you have to understand, Draco," his aunt cautioned him. "Our Master makes no deals with his followers. We are to do what he says, without question, and without hesitation."

"Sounds like the same thing Dumbledore wants us to do," Draco complained. The next moment he was staring in surprise at his aunt, the side of his face stinging from where she'd slapped him.

"Don't even_ think _anything like that again, boy," she breathed, her voice tight with fury. "Dumbledore is a weak, befuddled old fool, long past his prime, as well as a blood traitor. Our master would _kill_ you, slowly and painfully, for comparing the two of them.

"And the _next_ time you figure out where I'm going with an idea," she added, poking him in the chest painfully with a sharp-nailed finger. "Let _me_ finish what I have to say."

"Wanted the credit for yourself, did you?" Draco sneered, begrudgingly.

"No," she hissed. "You are fortunate the idea intrigued him. If he had dismissed it he might have punished you for sloppy thinking. If _I_ had said it, however, he would be less likely to punish me.

"Now let's get back inside," she said, taking his arm again and walking toward the gate. "Your mother is probably holding dinner for us." They passed through the gate and walked back into the manor.

* * *

After the ceremony with the other Asgardians Harry and Odin returned to Valaskjalf, Odin's throne hall, to make preparations for Harry's return to Earth. "Before you return to Midgard," Odin told him, after seating himself on his silver throne, watching as Harry flexed his newly-returned muscles, still impressed by their sheer bulk. "I will reveal to you the secrets of the hammer you carry. It is a weapon of immense power, second only to my spear, Gungnir."

"I would like to learn," Harry said, holding up Mjolnir. "My headmaster told me a few things it could do, like allow me to fly, and to change back and forth from myself to Thor, but that's all I learned before I left the school and traveled to Norway."

"It has eight enchantments," Odin told him. "Its _first_ enchantment I placed upon it as it was forged by the master dwarves Eitri, Brok and Buri, that it be proof against all damage and harm.

"Its _second_ enchantment is that no one who is unworthy of wielding Mjolnir may hold it or even lift it from the ground, except when it is disguised as another object. If someone unworthy of wielding Mjolnir attempts to change it into the hammer, nothing will happen."

"I'd wondered how it got to the Ministry if no one could lift it," Harry commented.

"The _third_ enchantment," Odin went on, ignoring Harry's comment, "is that the hammer will obey the wielder's spoken and unspoken commands. For example, when thrown, the hammer will return to you automatically or at your command, no matter what is placed between you. There is no limit to how far away the hammer can be — it will always respond to your command to return."

Harry nodded earnestly. "I remember the first time that happened — I threw the hammer at Bellatrix Lestrange as she tried to escape, and it destroyed the phone booth that's used as the Ministry's public entrance —"

"Silence, boy," Odin cut over him, now clearly annoyed with Harry's interruptions. But after Harry fell quiet, looking contrite, he merely continued without further reproof. "The _fourth_ enchantment allows you to generate and control all types of energy, be it physical, magical or mental. As the Thunderer, you have the ability to control all aspects of weather, both here on Asgard and on Midgard — the hammer will give you even greater control of this ability. This enchantment also allows you to fly, by throwing the hammer and grasping the thong —"

"Yeah, I've done that!" Harry said, beaming. "It was so cool…" he faltered as Odin fixed him again with a stern expression. "Sorry, sir — er, Lord Odin — uh…" Harry fell silent, not knowing what else to say.

"You are very much like my son Thor was, Harry Potter," Odin said gently, his expression softening. "Back in the days of his youth, he was quite enthusiastic about the responsibilities I told him would one day be his, as protector of Asgard. I sense that you take your responsibilities seriously as well."

Harry nodded. "I — try," he said, slowly. "It has been hard, this past year, to do that, though. Many people in the wizarding world thought I was mentally disturbed for trying to tell people about the return of the Dark wizard, Voldemort, when our government kept telling everyone that both I and my school's headmaster were wrong, and that I was only do it to get attention. It was only a few weeks ago that they realized he had returned, when he came to the Ministry of Magic to save some of his followers. He only managed to save one, however."

"And this Sirius Black you've spoken of," Odin asked. "Who you say is dead yet not dead…"

"My godfather, yes," Harry answered. "I cannot believe he's dead, only trapped behind the veil. I was able to return from there — he should be able to as well."

"Have you not considered," Odin suggested, "that you possessed the power of Thor when you returned, that it alone gave you the strength to do what no mortal man could?"

Harry _had_ thought of that, but it was not something he wanted to consider as the only solution. "I did not die when I passed beyond the veil!" he responded, fiercely. "I cannot believe Sirius did, either!"

"Very well," Odin said, holding up his hand in acceptance of what Harry had said. "Once you have returned to Midgard, found my son, and returned him to me, we shall learn the true fate of your godfather, Sirius Black.

"Now to continue," he said, returning to the matter of the hammer. "The _fifth_ enchantment allows you to disguise yourself and it in any manner you desire, when you strike the handle upon the ground. Its current disguise is that of a walking stick, but you can alter that by imagining whatever object you desire and striking it twice upon the ground. Why don't you try it now?"  
Harry leaned over and struck the handle of the hammer once upon the floor of the hall. There was a blinding flash of light and the roar of thunder, and where the tall, muscled Harry had been now stood a fifteen-year old boy holding a walking stick. "That is so cool," Harry muttered, looking at himself.

"Do you have another disguise in mind for the hammer, Harry?" Odin asked.

"Hmm," Harry thought for a moment. "How about…this?" He tapped the stick twice upon the floor, and the long, crooked piece of wood shortened noticeably, becoming a passable imitation of Harry's holly wand. "It would be really cool if I could do magic with this," he said wistfully, holding up the disguised hammer.

"You can," Odin told him. "Mjolnir can take on the properties of whatever object you transform it into. It will work as well or better than your old wand."

"That's good to know," Harry said happily. "I won't have to worry about keeping track of two wands that way."

"The _sixth_ enchantment allows Mjolnir to transform matter on a vast scale — it can even raise entire mountain ranges or sink continents into the ocean, if need be. It can even transmute the elements, such as lead into gold or mud into diamonds."

Harry blinked in disbelief. "I thought that was impossible," he said. "My friend Hermione said there are certain exceptions to, uh — somebody's Laws of Elementary Transfiguration, or something like that."

"There is very little that Mjolnir cannot do, if you have the will to make it happen, Harry," Odin told him seriously. "I sometimes fear that was partly to blame for my son's growing stubbornness and arrogance. With Mjolnir in hand, he was never beaten, though he was sometimes outwitted by clever opponents. His pride grew until cared more for his own greatness than for the protection of Asgard, and through it, Midgard. I finally resolved to take action to make him see the error of his ways."

"Is that why you sent him to Earth, then?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Odin said. "I wished to teach him humility, to have him regain his compassion for his people, both the Aesir and those on Midgard, whom we protect. Both he and I have sacrificed much to protect our realms."

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he simply nodded.

"Now, the _seventh_ enchantment," Odin continued, "is Mjolnir's ability to create shields and barriers, whether to sight, making you and it invisible, or sound, allowing you to move silently, or to touch, meaning you can become intangible for a time. This enchantment also allows you to detect barriers of all types, and you can use it to project images from your mind for others to see."

"Shields, huh?" Harry repeated. "How powerful are these shields?"

"Powerful enough to protect you from the energy of an exploding sun, if need be," Odin told him. "Mjolnir was forged with the energy of an exploding star, in order to work the uru metal and temper it to the durability I required."

"Wow," Harry said, awed.

"'Wow', indeed, Harry Potter," Odin replied, amused. "You see this is no mere wizard's wand, but a weapon worthy of a _god_."

"A god," Harry repeated. It was something he'd been thinking of for some time, based on what little he knew of Norse legends. "Many people believe _you_ are a god."

"Hmm," Odin made a sound that seemed both noncommittal and agreeing. "My son Thor fancied himself a god for a time — his journeys to Midgard over the last thousand years have been to encourage his veneration. He was quite chagrinned to find he'd been replaced by the Christ-god. For a time he even wandered Midgard searching for him, to offer battle."

"You're joking!" Harry exclaimed. "Did Thor really believe he could do that?"

Odin shifted uncomfortably on his throne. "My son is brave; he fights with a warrior's spirit, but he sometimes acts rashly, without wisdom. I have tried, over the last thousand years, to instill wisdom in him, but he still yearned for glory and battle, until I finally sent him to Midgard to learn humility. Once he is back with me, perhaps humbled by his time there, I will be ready to teach him wisdom."

"How did _you_ learn wisdom, sir," Harry asked. "If I may ask?"

Odin allowed himself a crooked smile. "Ah, that is a tale, young Harry! It was a tumultuous time in the Shining Realm, what we called Asgard in those days. The sons of Muspell threatened to attack Midgard, and because of its multiple connection to Yggdrasil we faced an enemy that could attack us from several fronts. Without an adequate defense we knew that Asgard would be lost, and with it Midgard as well.

"I knew of only one being that might help us — Mimir, an air spirit that dwelt below Yggdrasil's first root, in a place called _Mímisbrunnr _— the Well of Mimir. I knew Mimir to be a spirit of great wisdom and understanding, and entreated him for any way I might gain the wisdom needed to defeat the sons of Muspell."

"He must have helped you," Harry guessed. "Otherwise you probably wouldn't be here, is that right?"  
"Yes," Odin answered gravely. "But his aid required a heavy price. He promised to give me the runes, which I would need to gain even deeper understanding of the nine worlds connected to Yggdrasil, if I would make the proper sacrifice to him. Mimir told me my sacrifice must be the greatest sacrifice I could make. I pondered this for a time, and finally understood that the sacrifice I must make was my own life.

"Your _own_ life?" Harry looked surprised. "What good would that do? If you sacrificed yourself you'd be _dead_!"

"In the world of men, in Midgard, this would be true," Odin agreed. "And while I initially despaired at Mimir's request, though I was willing to sacrifice my life to save Asgard and Midgard from Muspell's might.

"Yet, I finally perceived that Mimir required a test of faith from me. He told me to transfix myself upon the trunk of Yggdrasil, with my own weapon, the spear Gungnir. For nine days I hung from Yggdrasil, until I felt the runic knowledge seep into my body as my blood infused with the World Tree. I was then able to free myself from my self-transfixion, and become the Lord of the Hanged."  
Harry listened in awe, amazed that anyone could have endured such pain for so long. "Was that the wisdom you needed to defeat these — these sons of Muspell?" he asked.

"I'd hope it would be sufficient," Odin said, leaning heavily upon an arm of his throne. "But when Mimir came to me after my ordeal on Yggdrasil, he asked if I was prepared to gain the wisdom of the nine worlds, the wisdom I would need to save Asgard, and Midgard, from the sons of Muspell."

"I knew much magic, Harry, even then, but to gain all the knowledge of the nine worlds—!" As if that explained everything, Odin went on. "I agreed to meet Mimir at Mímisbrunnr, where he would tell me the price of this priceless knowledge, and I would either agree to it, or refuse it."

"I know you must have agreed," Harry said. "But what kind of price could he ask of you, to —" Harry suddenly cut himself off, horrified by what he had just realized. "Your — your eye…"

Odin smiled. "It was a small price to pay, in hindsight," he said, amused by his own joke. "Mimir's price was nothing if not subtle — he told me the loss of one eye would be more than compensated for by my new ability to perceive the myriad intricacies and relationships of the knowledge of all the worlds, including the role Yggdrasil had amongst all of them. He was correct. I drank deeply of the cup he drew from his well, then plucked out mine own left eye and dropped it into the depths of Mímisbrunnr, where it is to this day."

"And doing this gave you the wisdom to save your world, and Earth, from these Muspell guys?" Harry finished, fitting the pieces of the puzzle together.

"It gave me the wisdom to enchant Gungnir, my spear, to be the most powerful weapon in the nine worlds, and to allow Eitri, Brok and Buri to forge Mjolnir, so that I might lay the eight enchantments upon it, so that my son, Thor, could best use it to protect our realms," Odin told him. "It gave me the wisdom to keep Midgard safe, for as long as Asgard stands, from the demons that are the sons of Muspell."  
"You've told me what seven of the enchantments are, Lord Odin," Harry said, hefting the hammer in his hand. "What is the final enchantment?"

Odin stood, regarding Harry with his one blue eye. "It is the most powerful enchantment of all, Harry Potter, and one I am not sure you will ever need. It may be too powerful to be given into the hands of a mortal, even though he wields the power of Thor."

"Lord Odin, did I not lift Mjolnir, proving myself worthy of carrying it?" Harry protested, hurt and resentful that Odin seemed not to trust him completely. "If I am to use Thor's hammer, I should know what it's capable of!"

"That is true," Odin countered, "But I have never shared the secret of the _eighth_ enchantment with anyone not of my own blood." He gave Harry an appraising look. "Yet, I will tell you what it is, Harry Potter, if you will agree to but one condition."

Harry felt himself caught up in the moment; after hearing of Odin's trials, he felt anything the Lord of the Hanged might ask of him would be worth knowing the last enchantment. "What is it?" he asked, his voice sounding confident and strong.

"I ask you to share your blood with me, to become my adopted son," Odin spoke almost admiringly. "To find one such as you amongst the mortals of Midgard, Harry, is a rare thing indeed. You are worthy of Mjolnir, and you stand unflinching as I demand a test of faith from you. Truly, you are the very heart and essence of a warrior."

Harry bowed slightly, acknowledging this high praise from the leader of the Aesir. "I am humbled by your praise, Lord Odin," he said, his eyes downcast momentarily. He stood again a moment later, looking Odin in the eye once again. "What must I do?"

Hold up your right hand," Odin told him. "Palm toward me." Harry did so, and the spear in Odin's hand suddenly moved, swifter than lightning, its tip cutting across Harry's palm. Harry frowned but did not wince, and Odin nodded approvingly. His left hand came forward, suddenly holding a golden chalice. As Harry's blood dripped from his wrist, Odin held the chalice beneath it, catching the blood until the bottom of the chalice was full.

Letting go of the chalice, Odin left it floating in midair as he took his spear in his own left hand. Holding his right hand over the chalice, he cut his own palm as well, letting his blood flow into the chalice until it was half-full.

Odin pressed his palm against Harry's, hard enough that Harry felt a throbbing pain in the cut, a pain that continued to grow as their hands seemed to become warmer and warmer. "Drink down half the cup," Odin commanded him, and Harry reached out with his left hand, tipping the warm, red liquid into his mouth, ignoring his squeamishness — it was not everyday, after all, that someone who was like a god asked you to share his blood!

Odin took the cup from Harry, draining the other half. The chalice disappeared, and Odin placed his hand over their palms, muttering phrases in a language Harry had never heard before. His hand kept getting hotter and hotter, but Harry ground his teeth together silently and took the pain, wondering how much more he'd have to endure before this was over.

After what seemed like hours, Odin stopped chanting and their palms separated. Harry instinctively looked at his hand, to assess the damage, and found to his amazement that the cut was healed — not even a trace of blood remained!

"It is done," Odin said, solemnly. "You are now flesh of my blood, Harry Potter. Thenceforth you may be called 'Harry Odinson'."

Harry bowed once again. "I am deeply honored, Lord Odin," he said, sincerely. "I promise to do everything I can to bring your son Thor back to you." He stood, looking respectfully at the Lord of the Hanged for several moments before asking. "Do you mind if I ask, uh, what does he look like, by the way?"

Odin nodded once, then held forth his spear, inscribing a large circle in the air before them. The air in front of them began to shimmer, then formed an image of a thin, bespectacled blond man, dressed in an overcoat and hat, walking with a young, auburn-haired woman. The man walked with a limp, and used a cane for support. "This is my son in his guise as Donald Blake, a lame Norwegian man sent to America to study medicine. It was my wish that he live among the weak and less fortunate, and be weak himself, to learn humility. He does not remember that he is Thor, only the life he has lived on Midgard for the past six years. You see him here with his mortal friend and colleague, a woman named Jane Foster, who accompanied him on his vacation back to Norway to celebrate the completion of his residency. I placed in his mind a compulsion to find the cave where I had placed Mjolnir, disguised as a walking stick, for him to find and discover his true heritage.

"Yet something happened…" Odin shook his head, chagrinned. "When next I thought to check on him, I found no trace of him or the woman — and Mjolnir was missing from the cave! Huginn and Muninn, my ravens, whispered to me of my step-son Loki's hatred of Thor, but when I questioned him he had honeyed words for my ears, and I did not punish him — to my everlasting regret, because if I had, my son Balder would yet be with us today." Odin gave Harry a dark look. "You saw what became of Loki for betraying his step-brother."

"Yes, I remember," Harry said. He was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable, bringing up all of these bad feelings from Odin's past. "Perhaps, Lord Odin, it is time for me to go back to Earth and begin my search for your son."

"Yes," Odin nodded. "But first, as we agreed, I give you the _eighth_ enchantment of Mjolnir: It is possible to channel of its energies into a single, cataclysmic blow, one capable of shattering whole worlds, of killing beings that cannot be killed by any other means. I placed this enchantment because of the prophecy —"

Harry bit his tongue. _Another prophecy_? They seemed to crop up in his life no matter where he went!

"— that at the final battle, come the day of Ragnarok," Odin continued. "You would battle the Midgard Serpent, and would mortally wound one another. The Midgard Serpent is Hela's brother, and by her choice he may not be killed by any Asgardian. That is why Thor —" Odin hesitated a moment, then continued "— Thor was born, not to my wife Frigga, but to the earth-spirit Gaea, in the very cave where you and I first spoke."

Comprehension dawned in Harry's mind. "So Thor comes from both Asgard _and_ Midgard!"

"And he is protector of both," Odin added. "As you are now, Harry, in his place. Come," he said, leading the way to the door of the hall. "Let us send you on your way to Midgard." They left the hall, and once outside Harry was struck by the beauty of the lands around him — the air was crisp and clean, the fields green and fertile-looking, and he could see hills and forests surrounding them in all directions, with a path leading in the direction they had come from, where the Rainbow Bridge was waiting to return him to Earth. Why had Thor been willing to forsake all this beauty to keep returning to Earth, Harry wondered to himself. Well, perhaps he'd find that out when he found him.

Harry unslung his hammer, preparing to throw it and fly toward Bifrost, but Odin held up a hand, stopping him. "I will accompany you there," he said, then called out in a loud voice, "Toothgnasher! Toothgrinder! To your master!" He fell silent again, and Harry wondered who Odin had called, when he heard a rumbling sound in the distance. Turning, he saw a large chariot racing toward them, drawn by two large goats. _Goats_? Harry thought, but said nothing.

When the chariot drew alongside them, the two goats stopped, and Odin said, "This is your chariot — or rather, Thor's, and his two goats, Toothgnasher and Toothgrinder. When he was young he drove them all over the realm of Asgard, and on Midgard as well. They will take us to Bifrost."

Harry and Odin both mounted the chariot, and the goats started off down the path, almost seeming to glide above it, the ride was so smooth. They passed Heimdall, who raised his hand in greeting. At the very edge of Asgard, Harry could see the Bridge, wide and gleaming with vivid colors, as they approached. He would soon be back home again! At last, he felt ready to return there, now that he had a better idea of what this hammer was and what it could do. He also had a mission now — a good one for a change; rather than worrying about killing Voldemort, or Voldemort killing him, he could concentrate on finding Odin's son Thor, and then finding a way to get Sirius back on this side of the veil.

The chariot stopped beside Bifrost and both men dismounted. Placing a fatherly hand on Harry's shoulder, Odin said, "I will hear from you soon, I hope, Harry, with news of my son."

"I will let you know when I find out anything, Lord Odin," Harry replied. "Uh," he hesitated. "That is, if you'll tell me how I should do that."

Odin nodded, but instead of saying anything he reached up, placing his palm on Harry's forehead. He held it there for several seconds, until Harry felt something like a burst of light inside his head. He took a step back, almost staggered by what had happened. "What — what did you just do, sir?"

"As my adopted son, Harry, I have given you all the knowledge of Mjolnir's secrets," Odin told him. "You will be able to contact me directly using the hammer, and I you. Now, you are ready to return. Good luck, Harry Potter."

Harry nodded respectfully, then turned and stepped onto the Bridge, moving slowly at first as he got used to the idea of walking on what seemed like solid light once again. In a matter of moments, however, Asgard had disappeared into a brilliant white light and he found himself traveling downward faster and faster toward Earth.

* * *

Only a few moments after stepping onto the Rainbow Bridge, Harry found himself on solid ground once again. Looking around, he saw the familiar hills and mountains of Norway; he had returned only a short distance from the cave where he and Odin had met. Harry considered looking in there again, to see if he might notice something that would give him a clue about Thor's whereabouts, but he realized that trail was over 30 years old. Instead, swinging the hammer in a large circle, he threw it into the air, then caught onto the thong and was pulled into the sky, streaking away to the south and west in the early afternoon sky.

It took only a few minutes for him to cross the North Sea, and as he soared across the skies of Northern England Harry realized he was close to Lancashire, where Neville Longbottom lived. Neville had been the only one of the five Hogwarts students who'd seen him transform into Thor — Harry wanted to talk with him and find out what he'd told the others. If they knew, it wasn't a big deal, but Harry thought he might be able to work more effectively to find out where Thor was, in his Donald Blake identity, if no one knew Harry possessed the power of Thor. It might also come in handy if Voldemort attacked him, he thought, relishing the idea, momentarily, of getting the Dark Lord within striking distance of his hammer.

But, he could daydream about that later, Harry decided — for now, he veered westward, knowing that Neville's home was in a small town somewhere between Blackpool and Preston — he was struggling to remember its name, however. Something Plumpton, he was halfway sure, but he could hardly go flying from town to town looking for him! If he had Hedwig he could write a message to Neville and have her take it to him, then simply follow her. But she _wasn't_ here — and the best Harry could hope for was that Ron or Hermione took her home with them — he could imagine the looks of horror on the Dursleys' faces if they'd been asked to care for his owl!

At last, with nothing but green hillside beneath him, Harry aimed his hammer downward, landing lightly in what he hoped was a deserted area. He could see buildings and roads in the distance, but nothing nearby. He wanted to think for a minute: _how_ could he figure out where Neville lived without Hedwig to owl him and with no other way to communicate with him? Being from a pureblood family, Harry doubted Neville's grandmother had a phone in her home.

One of the many things Mjolnir could do was open a portal to teleport him directly to any location he desired. But he had to _know_ the location, so that option wasn't available to him now. Mjolnir could also sense almost any type of energy, even the mental energies of a particular person, if the wielder were familiar enough with them. But Harry had never touched Neville's mind before, so he couldn't use that power. Neville once had a Remembrall, that Draco Malfoy had taken during their first broom class and threw it, trying to get Harry to chase it and get into trouble, which Harry did, catching it before it hit the ground and broke. Professor McGonagall had seen him flying, but instead of expelling him Harry had been made Seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, to Malfoy's horror. Harry grinned at that memory. But Neville no longer had the Remembrall, so he couldn't use that power, either!

Frustrated, Harry thrust his hand into the pocket of his cloak, to see what he'd been carrying when he'd been transformed to his Thor-like physique. His massive hand brought out only two Galleons, three Knuts, Sirius's pocketknife, now ruined as the blade had melted when he tried to use it to unlock a door in the Department of Mysteries, and a red-colored Bertie Bott's Every Flavor bean. Not much here that was helpful, he thought resignedly.

Harry dropped the stuff back into his cloak pocket, keeping the two Galleons out, wondering if he could find some way to reach Neville quickly if he teleported to Diagon Alley. He could go to the owl post station there, find out where the Longbottom residence was, then send an owl and follow it. But it would take hours, and it would be dark before much longer! Harry rolled the Galleons absently in his fingers, feeling the serial numbers along the edge. He would have to come up with something, and quickly, or he might as well go home to Little Whinging — he was sure he could find _that_, at least!

He could go to the Burrow, maybe — see if Hedwig was there… but no, he'd have to explain to Ron and the other Weasleys, and probably Hermione as well, where he'd been off to for the past few weeks, and he wasn't prepared to do that yet. The Galleons in his hand were irritating him, as useless as they felt, and he glared at the pair of them, looking at them edge-on, and drew back his hand to throw them far, far away, useless as they were to him right now.

But he stopped, remembering something, then looked at the Galleons again. The serial number on one of the coins was visible, and as he stared at the number, 0204961900, he realized what it was — it was his DA coin! He recognized the numbers as the date of their last DA meeting — 2 April 1996 at 7 p.m.!

Hermione had enchanted a number of fake Galleons with a Protean Charm, keyed to the coin that Harry had. By tapping on this coin with his wand, Harry could change the numbers on the side to reflect the date and time of the next DA meeting. The other DA members had coins as well, and the numbers on their coins would change when Harry's did, letting them know when the next meeting would be held. If Neville still had his coin, Harry could use it and this one to track the magical signature with Mjolnir!

Tossing the real Galleon back into his pocket, Harry held the fake Galleon up to Mjolnir, willing the hammer to detect and remember the unique magical signature Hermione had imbued the coin with via the Protean Charm. That accomplished, he returned the coin to his pocket and hurled himself into the air again, this time commanding Mjolnir to find magical emanations similar to it. It was possible, he knew, that he would find other DA coins that Hermione had enchanted, but unlikely in Lancashire — Neville was the only DA member from that county.

Soon Mjolnir began a downward descent, Harry saw, toward a small manor house tucked away behind a copse of trees, mostly hidden from a small town some distance from it. Canceling his tracking of Neville's DA coin, Harry landed in the middle of a field, a hundred yards or so from an intersection that led off the main road toward the small town. He struck the hammer once upon the ground, becoming Harry Potter once again, and having Mjolnir transform to look like his own holly wand. He started to put the disguised wand with his own wand, then changed his mind and switched the holly wand to his other back pocket, leaving Mjolnir where he would naturally reach for his wand.

Walking to the intersection, Harry saw that the main street was Weeton Road; the side road leading to the small town was called East Plumpton Road. _That_ was the name of the town Neville lived near, Harry now recalled. Dithering whether to walk directly to the manor house, where Mjolnir told him the DA coin was located, or into East Plumpton, Harry decided on the latter, on a hunch.

East Plumpton was not very large, consisting of several small houses, a building with a bell tower, which Harry supposed was a church, and another building that looked like a convenience store. Figuring he was likely to have the best luck asking after the Longbottom home there, Harry walked into the small store.

The middle-aged but buxom woman with long dark hair falling around her shoulders gave him a cautious nod, and Harry nodded back; clearly, they were careful about strangers round here. "Do you sell food here?" Harry asked, and the woman nodded, pointing to a row of refrigerated cases along one wall. But Harry had no sooner started that way when a familiar voice cried out, "Harry! You're _here_!"

Harry turned to see Neville hurrying toward him, juggling a steaming sandwich still in its plastic wrapper, which he'd pulled from the store's microwave only moments earlier. "What're you doing all the way up in East Plumption, Harry?" Neville said, coming to a halt right in front of him, then "Ow!" dropping his sandwich as it burned his fingers. Harry reached down, his Quidditch reflexes taking over, and caught the sandwich before it hit the floor. The plastic was hot but he quickly grabbed a cooler corner.

"Hi, Neville," he said, smiling and offering Neville his sandwich back. "Just thought I'd show up and save your meal for you."

Neville laughed; he didn't believe that, of course, but— "It's really good to see you, Harry! We'd wondered where you'd gotten off to, after the —" Neville glanced over at the woman behind the counter, who was watching them both curiously. "— uh, you know."

"I had some stuff to take care of," Harry said, not offering any more information at the moment. "I wanted to come talk to you about — about what happened."

"What?" Neville said, his voice registering alarm. "You _know_ what Dra—" he suddenly cut himself off, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, unsure what had upset Neville, except that it had something to do with Draco Malfoy. But the round-faced boy, realizing Harry had meant something else, simply shook his head.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "You meant the — the other thing, didn't you?"

"I think so," Harry said uncertainly, now confused by what Neville was saying. He was trying to hide something from Harry, he could tell. "Can we go back to your house and talk?"

"Sure," Neville agreed quickly. "I just have to get a few things for Gran." Neville grabbed a few items off of shelves: a small bag of flour, a bottle of maple syrup, and a can of pepper, and brought them to the counter.

"Who's your friend, Nev?" the lady at the counter asked him. "Haven't seen him round here before."

"That's Harry Potter, Edna," Neville said proudly, before Harry could answer. "He's come up for a visit."

"Harry Potter?" the woman said, smiling at him. Harry smiled back, trying not to notice the gaps where her teeth were missing. She put her hand over the counter for him to shake. "It's nice to meet any friend of Neville's," she said.

Harry nodded. For a moment he thought Edna was a witch about to gush over the Boy-Who-Lived, but she was apparently just someone who knew Neville fairly well. "Nice to meet you too, ma'am," he said politely.

They walked out of the store and up a small lane past several houses. The lane ended but Neville kept on walking. "The house is a few hundred yards this way," he said quietly. "Gran's got enough Muggle-Repelling Charms on it that nobody ever comes out this way, even though the path is pretty well worn.

"Gran wants to meet you, by the way," Neville told him, smiling broadly now that they were getting closer to his home. She's been saying you've got more backbone than the entire Ministry of Magic altogether! And I think she's right!" he added, admiringly.

"Thanks, Neville," Harry said, a bit uncomfortable at being lionized by his normally shy friend. He slowed to a stop. "Before we see your grandmother, I wanted to have a talk with you about what happened at the Department of Mysteries."

"I haven't told anyone, Harry," Neville said immediately. "I swear I haven't! I figured that was something you'd want to keep to yourself."

"For now, it is," Harry told him. "You didn't tell even Ron or Hermione?"

"Nuh uh," Neville shook his head firmly. "They would've made me tell them _everything_ if I even hinted about what happened that night!"

Harry chuckled. "I think you're right, they can be pretty persistent when they want to find something out."

"Yeah!" Neville agreed. "It was bad enough — uh —" he suddenly fell silent, and Harry, though by no means a Legilimens, saw pain and humiliation in his eyes once again.

"Neville," Harry said, looking at him directly. "What did Draco do to you?"

Neville's expression went scared for a moment, then he looked away, trying to look confused. "I don't know what you mean, Harry."

"You almost said Draco's name earlier, in the shop," Harry pointed out insistently. "And you said something was 'bad enough.' What did he do that was 'bad enough,' Neville?"

Neville sighed. "Well, it was — you see, he blamed you for his father going to Azkaban…"

"Right," Harry snorted. "Like I had anything to do with him becoming a Death Eater!"

Neville looked uncomfortable hearing that. "Well, he and Crabbe and Goyle grabbed me on the ride home and tried to get me to tell them where you'd gone. I really didn't know but I did know about that — that other thing you did, and I was sure you didn't want them to know about that, either!" Neville looked Harry over; Harry was wearing the same T-shirt, jeans and trainers he'd had on at the Ministry of Magic. "You're not carrying that stick around anymore — did you get rid of it or something?"

"I've still got it," Harry told him, patting a back pocket where the disguised Mjolnir was hidden.

"It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen," Neville said, breathlessly. "What are you going to do with it, Harry?"

"I still have to figure that out," Harry replied, as honestly as he could. "For now, I'm going home to Privet Drive and pretend nothing's happened except I was missing for a few weeks."

"I bet that hammer is going to come in handy if You-Know-Who comes after you again," Neville suggested in an excited tone.

"_If_ he does," Harry said, remembering their last meeting. "He ran pretty fast when I got too close to him."  
"What?" Neville exclaimed. "You had a _fight_ with You-Know-Who? When was _this_?"

Briefly, Harry related the events that occurred when he chased Bellatrix Lestrange into the Atrium, after the battle in the Death Chamber. Harry didn't mention the murderous rage he'd felt while pursuing his godfather's murderer (_attempted murderer_, Harry reminded himself). He knew there was no love lost between Neville and the Lestrange woman, who'd tortured his parents, Alice and Frank Longbottom, with the Cruciatus Curse while trying to locate Voldemort, before it had been established that he was missing and presumed dead.

"Wow!" Neville said, completely impressed. "I wish I could have seen _that_ fight!"

"Remember to keep it to yourself for now," Harry reminded him. "I want this to stay strictly between you and me."

Neville looked at him curiously. "But you're going to tell the others eventually, aren't you?"

"I…don't know," Harry finally answered, after several moments. "It may be better if they don't know — it might be dangerous if anyone thought they knew what I can do now."

"D'you think You-Know-Who will assume they _don't_ know who you were?" Neville pointed out. "They were at the Department of Mysteries, too, you know."

Harry hadn't thought of that. "You might be right," he admitted. "But for now, keep it to yourself, okay? Even from your grandmother."

"Okay, Harry," Neville agreed, in a tone Harry believed indicated complete loyalty on his friend's part. "Are you ready to say hi to my Gran now?" he asked, looking toward his home.

"Sure," Harry nodded. "And then I'd better get home. I don't know how much my uncle is going to yell at me before he sends me to my room without anything to eat."

"Well," Neville said shyly, reaching into the store bag he was carrying. "I bought another sandwich for later, but you can have it if you want." He offered the sandwich to Harry, who smiled back at him with genuine warmth. He really _was_ hungry — he hadn't eaten since before he met Odin.

"Thanks, Neville," he said, taking the sandwich and breaking it in half. "I'll split it with you." He offered the other half back to his friend.

Neville eyed it for a moment, unsure what to do, then grinned and took it. "Thanks, Harry. You know, Gran is really looking forward to seeing you again."

"Well, let's not keep her waiting," Harry said, biting into his half of the sandwich, and he and Neville walked on toward the Longbottom home.

* * *

Harry landed in the play park a few blocks from number four Privet Drive. The park had been empty, though Harry had half-expected Dudley and his gang to be there loitering about, just because it would mess up his plan to land there and transform back to normal, fifteen-year old Harry. He looked around carefully, seeing no one in the park itself or on the nearby streets, then tapped the hammer's handle on the ground. There was a flash of light and Harry's normal appearance returned, holding a wand. He'd figured out to suppress the crack of thunder that tended to occur during the change — it would make his transformation less noticeable in the future, as long as he was not being watched when he changed.

The gate to the park was locked but Harry vaulted it easily and began walking home. He was not looking forward to this reunion — his uncle Vernon would likely shout at him for quite some time, heaping his anger and frustration onto Harry. Harry just hoped he wouldn't get too angry at his uncle — it was almost impossible not to, as unfair and hateful as Vernon Dursley could be. The thought of Harry transforming into his Thor form and bouncing Vernon off the walls of his own home made Harry smile as he walked along Magnolia Road, turning into Magnolia Crescent so he could cut through the alley between it and Wisteria Walk.

Of course, Harry thought with a sigh, he couldn't assault Vernon as Thor. As bullying and uncaring as he was, Vernon had never actually beat him. Oh, they'd kept him that cupboard for ten years, and to his Aunt Petunia he was little more than a slave, kept underfed but not starving. The only one who'd really hit him was Dudley and his gang, but that was before Harry'd gone to Hogwarts. Now Dudley tended to avoid him, even with his posse behind him — especially since that incident with the dementors last year.

He'd like to see some dementors show up _now_, Harry thought. He wondered what his Thor-form could do against them… Harry shook his head, throwing off such thoughts. He needed to stay focused on what he really wanted — getting his godfather Sirius back, and finding out what happened to the real Thor.

Walking up the path to number four, Harry steeled himself and rang the doorbell. "What now?" he heard his uncle exclaim, then the sound of footsteps tromping toward the door, which then flew open, revealing the beefy figure and beady eyes of Vernon Dursley. "You!" he breathed, his eyes widening for a moment. "Where the blazes have you _been_, boy?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer but his aunt's voice cut him off. "Who is it, Vernon?" she called from the kitchen.

"It's the boy!" Vernon replied; a moment later Petunia Dursley sailed through the kitchen door and joined Vernon in glaring at him.

"What do you mean, inconveniencing us like that?" she demanded. "We waited for you at King's Cross but you never appeared! None of your friends knew where you were!"

"You talked to my friends?" Harry asked, surprised. Usually the Dursleys avoided people "like him" — that is, magical people, like the Black Plague.

"Ruddy freaks," Vernon muttered, glaring at him. "Tried to tell us it was _our fault_ you were gone — that you'd left to get away from us! They even threatened to come _here_ searching for you!" Harry saw Petunia shudder visibly at the thought.

"So — out with it!" Vernon finally insisted. "Where were you?"

"I — was — doing something for Professor Dumbledore," Harry said. It was a lie, of course, but not one Vernon would even consider checking.

"What, that old coot who runs the freak school you go to?" Vernon demanded. "What were you doing for _him_?"

"I don't know how it's any of your business," Harry replied, flatly. "Besides, you wouldn't want to hear about it — it's about _ma-a-gic_…" He drew out the last word over several seconds, waving his hands about as if making magical signs. Vernon and Petunia both shrank back automatically, then looked furious when it was obvious Harry was having them on.

"I've had enough of your cheek, boy!" Vernon sputtered, taking hold of Harry's shoulder and dragging him inside. He let Harry go and pointed up the stairs. "Up to your room! There'll be no supper for you tonight!"

Harry shrugged. "That's okay — I've already eaten." He wasn't going to mention that he'd only had half a convenience store sandwich, though. Neville's grandmother had wanted to feed him, but the small amount of food he'd eaten had sated him, somehow. As Vernon continued to glare at him and point to the stairs, Harry shrugged and started slowly up the steps.

Having settled Harry for the night, Vernon stomped back into the living room, to shout at the television set. "Ruddy freaks are taking over the country!" he ranted, shaking a fist at the images on the screen. "Bridges collapsing, hurricanes — even a murder, practically in the Prime Minister's offices! Not surprising, though — not for someone with a name like hers — Bones."

Harry froze halfway up the steps. He turned and came back down into the hallway. "Someone named Bones was murdered?" he asked hesitantly.

Vernon turned to glare hatefully at him. "Good friend of yours, no doubt! It goes to show what's wrong with this country — we're letting the freaks take over!"

After a moment Vernon seemed to realize that Harry hadn't obeyed him. "Well, go on, boy! Get up to your room!"

Without another word Harry turned and marched up the stairs and into his small bedroom. It smelled dusty and long-unused (which didn't surprise him — Aunt Petunia never entered this room now that he was living in it); with his wardrobe and drawers empty, and his trunk not here, it was pretty barren. Harry opened the window, to get a bit of fresh air inside, and as he stepped away from it a flash of brown feathers suddenly swooped through, startling him. It circled his room once then landed on his desk: a large brown owl he didn't recognize. If offered him its leg, and Harry unfastened the message he found there, unfolding and read it at once:

_Dear Harry,  
__Welcome home! I regret having to trouble you so soon after your return, but I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven P.M. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holiday, should you so desire.  
__Also, if you are agreeable, I would be glad of your assistance in a matter which I hope to attend to on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you.  
__Kindly send your answer by return of this owl, as I am aware that your own owl, Hedwig, is currently staying with Ron at the Borrow. Hoping to see you this Friday.  
__I am, yours most sincerely,  
__Albus Dumbledore_

The owl on his desk was watching Harry expectantly. With his trunk not here, Harry looked around the room, then sighed in frustration. _How was he going to reply without something to write with_? Looking into his desk drawers, Harry rummaged around until he came up with an old ink bottle and a frayed, nearly useless quill. There was no parchment in his drawer, and Harry was stumped for what to use until he saw Dumbledore's letter had a patch of bare parchment left over. He tore off that bit of the letter, writing blotchily in reply:

**Dear Professor Dumbledore,**  
** Friday is fine, I'll be here. Looking forward to seeing you again.**  
**Sincerely,**  
**Harry Potter**

Harry then hastily folded the parchment and fastened it around the owl's leg. "Sorry I don't have anything for you to eat or drink," he told it apologetically. "But none of my stuff is here right now." The owl hooted plaintively at him, ruffled its feathers, and flew back out the window.

Watching it fly away, Harry wondered: just _how_ did Dumbledore know he was home already? He hadn't seen Mrs. Figg around during his walk home, and didn't think she'd have time to get the information to the headmaster so he could send an owl, even if she had seen him. He shrugged to himself, deciding he could ask Dumbledore when he saw him. He changed into his pajamas and crawled into his bed, thankful for this little bit of familiarity, even if he _was_ in the Dursleys' "care" once again. He smiled at that, knowing that this time, they had a thunderer by the tail, even if they didn't know it.

* * *

From his hiding place near the edge of Asgard, Loki the Trickster watched as his foster father and the Thor poseur exchanged farewells. He smiled mockingly to himself. Poor Odin! So heartsick for his little Thor that he'd embraced a mere mortal as a replacement! It was positively hilarious.

Loki's smile disappeared. Now that he was free of Odin's punishment for tricking Balder into Hel and keeping him there, it was time for him to take care of Thor once and for all. Odin believed his son alive somewhere on Earth, and had sent the mortal to find him. Loki would find him first, and dispose of him, wherever he was. Then he would take care of this upstart mortal, this Harry Potter, whom Odin seemed to favor even over _him_ — Loki, his adopted son! Not that he wasn't right to do so, Loki thought, smugly. After all, he _was_ planning on deposing Odin and becoming ruler of Asgard.

Odin mounted Thor's chariot and rode back to where Heimdall stood guard, exchanging words with him Loki didn't bother to listen to. With the invocation of a minor enchantment, he decided, it would be the perfect opportunity to traverse the Bridge to Midgard. He cast the spell at Heimdall, causing his throat to dry. Heimdall, touching his throat, offered to share a drink with Odin in his hall. Odin agreed, and the two went inside Heimdall's residence.

All too easy, Loki smiled. He sauntered from his hiding place, confident that the two would be occupied for several minutes quaffing Heimdall's finest mead, and disappeared across Bifrost.

He appeared a few moments later on the same path Harry had landed on in Norway. Looking around, Loki sensed he was not far from the cave where Odin had placed the disguised Mjolnir all those years ago. He walked up to the cave and stepped inside, looking around.

There had been recent conversations in here, he realized — much more recent than the day Donald Blake had come here, drawn by a compulsion he didn't understand. Curious, Loki cast a spell that showed him that conversation once again. He watched the ersatz thunderer speak with Lord Odin, saw the altercation between them, a tactic that was a favorite of the Allfather. Goading the mortal into attacking him, Odin took the hammer away from him and returned the mortal to his normal form, making Loki grin appreciatively. Sometimes his foster father could be a real bastard. After several more minutes of boring conversation, Odin suddenly got maudlin and decided to show Harry around Asgard, and they disappeared.

This cave… Loki looked around once again, wondering about Odin's attraction to this place. From what he'd told the Midgardian, the hammer had been placed here, disguised as a walking stick for the lame, to await Thor's return in his guise as the mortal Donald Blake. Loki smiled and cast the revealment spell once again, this time looking much, much further into the past.

A thin, slightly-built human ran into the cave, looking around with a frantic expression on his face. He ran further into the cave, limping badly, then ducked down, cowering in the shadows behind some rocks, as three hulking brutes appeared at the cave entrance. Each around twelve feet tall, they could not enter the cave without dropping to their hands and knees and crawling in, an action that was apparently beyond their ability to conceive. They simply grunted at each other, pointing at the opening, then began hitting it with their clubs, trying to enlarge the entrance. Blake watched fearfully from the shadows as the club slammed into the mountainside around the entrance. If they managed to make the entrance large enough to enter he would have nowhere to run!

The entrance to the cave shattered, showering the floor of the cave entrance with rocks and enlarging the entrance enough that one of the trolls squeezed his way inside, looking around dumbly for his quarry. Not knowing what else to do, Blake stayed hunkered down behind the rocks, scared witless that the huge beast-like being would find him. In the darkness, his hands suddenly came across a long, thin object and he grasped it, bringing it up before his eyes to see what he'd found. He thought it was his cane, but he'd dropped that as he rushed to hide. This was a long, gnarled walking stick; compared to the clubs the huge humanoids carried, however, it may as well have been a feather duster.

At that moment the large humanoid saw him, and reached out, grasping him around the chest in a massive gray hand, lifting him out from behind the rocks and thrusting him into the air with a loud grunt. Blake's head impacted with the roof of the cave and he passed out, though he still held onto the stick. Holding his prey, the large, gray humanoid turned and exited the cave, showing the unconscious human to his fellows, who all grunted appreciatively.

Lifting his club, the troll holding Blake was about to smash in his head when the club suddenly jumped into the air, out of his hand. All three trolls looked up at it, confused, as the club came down hard on the first troll's head, then the other two in quick succession, so that all three were out on their feet. The all fell forward into a clump, though Blake remained suspending in midair. After a moment he floated slowly to the ground.

Three men in robes, cloaks and wide-brimmed hats appeared slowly out of thin air. "Lucky for this Muggle we decided to see what these three trolls were pursuing," one said, an older man with black eyes and salt-and-pepper hair and beard.

"They _were_ acting a bit strange," a second wizard said, looking at the unconscious trio. "Whew! It wasn't hard to keep track of them, was it? That smell…"

The third wizard was bending over Blake's unconscious form. "I thought he'd passed out from fright or shock," he said worriedly, looking at the other two, but this Muggle appears to have suffered a blow to the head."

"You're right," the first one said, casting a few diagnostic charms. "He's in a bad way. We should probably get him to a hospital." He pointed at the stick in Blake's hands. "Also, I think our injured friend here managed to find the object we've been looking for in these mountains for the past week."

The second wizard cast a quick detection spell over the stick. "You're right," he said, surprised. "How could we have missed it? We been past this cave several times!"

"I don't know," the first one muttered. He cast a spell of his own. "The magical aura seems more powerful now." He reached down, taking the stick from Blake's unconscious hands. "Funny," he said, looking at the other two wizards. "The aura seems much less potent now." He looked back at the unconscious man. "For some reason, his holding this stick made it register more magically powerful. Odd, since he seems to be a Muggle."

"Perhaps he's a Squib," the third wizard suggested. "Sometimes they have abilities that manifest in unusual ways."

"Perhaps," the first wizard agreed. "We will take him with us — perhaps they can come up with some treatment for him in London."

"What should we do with the unconscious female?" the second wizard asked. "She was obviously with him — he seems to have led the trolls away from her, though she passed out, probably from fright."

"We can Obliviate her memories of the trolls and drop her off in the village where she and her escort were staying," the first one decided. "There is no point in getting her involved in this as well. We can leave her with a suggestion that this man decided to stay here in Norway for a time, while she returns to her home. Hopefully, they can get him fixed up and back home with her in no time." Donald Blake's form rose into the air, floating after the three wizards as they made their way back to where the unconscious woman lay. The images of the past faded.

"Bother," Loki said, chagrinned. Blake _wasn't_ dead, it seemed. It had been part of his plan, all those years ago, to enchant three local mountain trolls into attacking and killing Thor in his Blake disguise, when he was most vulnerable. If Blake had only known what to do with that walking stick, things might have turned out very differently — those three trolls would have been no match for Thor the Thunderer, Loki knew!

Now, the only thing he knew for sure was that Blake had been brought to London, and that somehow, decades later, this boy mortal, this Harry Potter, had chanced upon the disguised hammer somewhere and was somehow able to use it. It would not be easy, after all these years, to track down what had become of Blake, though from what Odin had said he must still be alive somewhere.

"Ah, well," Loki smiled maliciously, "a trickster's work is never done." He disappeared from the cave, to plot his next move.


	5. A Will and a Way

**Harry Thunderer and the Uru Hammer**

**Chapter Five  
****"A Will and a Way"**

_Updated 4 June 2010_

Harry spent the next few days at Privet Drive deep in thought, trying to figure out how he was going to find a man who'd last been seen over 30 years ago, in a different country, and even a being that could see over the entire _world_ could not locate. It was a pretty problem, to say the least!

Harry also spent hours holding and thinking about his new wand, the disguised hammer Mjolnir. Though he now knew all of its eight enchantments and everything about them, thanks to the knowledge Odin had imparted directly into his brain, there was so _much_ to know that Harry couldn't tell which of its abilities might help him or not, or how. He ached to put it through its paces, to gain more experience in using it, but he couldn't be sure that the Ministry wouldn't be able to tell that he was practicing magic out of bounds again, even if it wasn't his wand, strictly speaking. It certainly _looked_ like his wand — would that count? Harry had hidden his original holly wand inside an old jacket he'd found in his wardrobe — the only thing left in the room from when he'd left last year. At first, he thought that if his _own_ wand wasn't close to him, he could use Mjolnir in wand form to make magic. But he still wasn't sure. So, he just stared at the wand, going over the enchantments and what he might be able to do with them, once he got somewhere he could perform magic.

It was tempting to transform into Thor and use the hammer, but Harry wanted to have a plan of some kind before he did something like that. As Thor, he tended to feel confident, well-nigh invulnerable — perhaps more so than was prudent, if the truth be told. When he'd returned home, and Uncle Vernon was yelling at him, he'd been tempted to turn into Thor and humiliate him with his superior strength, like Dudley and his gang had done to him in the past, bullying him and other kids at school. Instead, he'd gritted his teeth and gone up to his room, knowing that he shouldn't want revenge — and it would be too easy to accidentally break Vernon's bones, including his neck, with all the repressed anger Harry held against him. He also didn't any ensuing problems, either with the Ministry or Dumbledore, to get in the way of his goal of saving Donald Blake, alive somewhere here on Earth without his memories of being Thor, or his godfather Sirius Black, who was still alive somewhere beyond the veil, Harry hoped.

But where to _start_? Harry was starting to wonder if his plan not to tell Ron and Hermione about his new alter ego was ill-conceived. After all, Hermione _was_ the smartest witch of her age, and even Ron could provide insight on problems that Harry didn't always see himself. With them _and_ Neville helping him, Harry felt, they ought to be able to come up with some way to figure out what had happened to Donald Blake, using the abilities Mjolnir provided.

There was a noise outside his door, and Harry glanced at the alarm clock on his desk, one he'd repaired a year or so ago. It was just after dinner time, which meant that his Aunt Petunia had brought a tray up and left it outside his room. He shook his head, frowning. After being so upset when he'd come home two days ago, the Dursleys had all but ignored him since then. Even Dudley had barely glanced at him when they happened to pass one another the other day as Harry was coming back from the loo. He got up and went to the door to retrieve the tray that was there, finding a bowl of soup, a few slices of dry bread, and a cup of cold tea.

Shrugging, as it was better than eating nothing, and he hadn't had anything since his equally meager supper the night before, Harry sat the tray on his desk and quickly ate the soup and bread, and drank the tea, wondering how hungry he'd feel by tomorrow morning, when he should be at the Burrow, according to Dumbledore's letter. Mrs. Weasley, the best cook Harry knew, usually had no problem keeping him fed, though Harry had noticed that his appetite had dropped off a bit lately, since he'd become Thor. He usually didn't feel hunger very much in his Thor form, though as Harry he still felt like he needed to eat.

Placing the tray with the empty bowl and cup outside his door, Harry sat down at his desk, re-reading Dumbledore's letter for what must have been the twentieth time. It was good he was going to the Burrow, at least — all of his stuff was there, according to Dumbledore, and he missed seeing Hedwig after so long. But Harry still hadn't worked out why Dumbledore himself was coming to collect him, unless it had something to do with him being Thor now. So far, only Dumbledore and Neville (and, he remembered, Remus Lupin as well) knew what had happened to him in the Ministry. He knew Neville supported him, but what might the two older men want from him — or, more specifically, from Thor? There was still the matter of that damned prophecy, and Harry imagined that Dumbledore could see what an advantage having someone like Thor on their side could do for the Order of the Phoenix. But Harry _was_ Thor, and they didn't let anyone who wasn't of age in the Order — Harry would not even be sixteen for a few more weeks. He dropped Dumbledore's letter on his desk, leaning against window glass, the coolness soothing him.

He awoke with a start. Something had happened outside, but Harry couldn't tell what. He looked out the window, but it was dark and his eyes were still blurry from waking up. He reached under his glasses, rubbing sleep from his eyes, then glanced out the window just in time to see a wide-brimmed hat disappear from view as it moved up the garden path. Harry looked at the alarm. Eleven o'clock! There was a knock on the door, and he realized Dumbledore was here _already_!

Harry leapt to his feet, grabbing Mjolnir and remembering to take the jacket with his old wand in it, as he heard the doorbell ring and Vernon bellowed, "Who the deuce is that, at _this_ time of night?" Harry froze for a moment, realizing he'd never mentioned Dumbledore visit to the Dursleys! They were bound to be furious! He laughed, shaking his head. Well, it wasn't as if they could stop him _or_ Dumbledore from leaving, could they?

As he made his way down the stairs, Harry heard the front door open, and Dumbledore's voice. "Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley. I daresay Harry has told you I would be arriving this evening." _Nope_, Harry thought wryly to himself. _Never crossed my mind_.

There was no response from Uncle Vernon, and Harry paused on the landing, listening. "Judging from your look of stunned surprise," he heard Dumbledore say, in a pleasant tone. "Harry has _not_ told you I would be here. Shall we assume, however, that you have just invited me warmly into your home? In these troubled times, it is not wise to linger overlong in the open." Dumbledore stepped smartly into the house, closing the door behind him.

Vernon was backing away as Dumbledore stepped inside; he spied Harry on the steps and gave him a furious glare, but said nothing as Dumbledore spoke again. "It has been quite some time since I was here last," he commented, looking around the hallway in polite interest. "Your agapanthus are flourishing, I see."

Though Vernon made no reply, Harry had no doubt he would, and soon — the vein in his temple was throbbing dangerously.

"Ah, Harry, there you are!" Dumbledore exclaimed, noticing him at last. "It is excellent to see you once again."

_That_ comment was enough to rouse Vernon Dursley to speech. "See here," he began, gruffly. "I don't mean to be rude, but —"

"— but, sadly, accidental rudeness does occur alarmingly often," Dumbledore finished, nodding agreement. "I suggest saying nothing, my good man, and avoid any such accidents. Ah, this must be Petunia."

Harry turned to see his aunt standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a sponge and bucket in her rubber-gloved hands, staring at the professor in shock.

Dumbledore glanced at Vernon, but when it became obvious he was too flustered to make introductions (Harry smiled to himself; as if that common courtesy would have ever occurred to his uncle), the professor bowed slightly, saying, "Albus Dumbledore. We have corresponded, of course," causing Harry to smile again — their last correspondence was a Howler from Dumbledore to Petunia, reminding her of her obligation to allow Harry in their home.

No one moved for several seconds.

Harry half-expected to find Dudley in the front room, where he usually watched television with his father on Fridays nights, but he was nowhere to be seen. It was just as well anyway, he thought — he was quite ready to be shot of this place once again, to get out where he could _do_ something, to figure out where Donald Blake, the original Thor, was, and find him.

Dumbledore had apparently been expecting Vernon or Petunia to speak, but as their silenced stretched on he gestured toward the front room. "Shall we assume that you have just invited me into your sitting room?" he asked, pleasantly.

Vernon and Petunia looked at one another, speechless, as Dumbledore walked into the room and sat down in the armchair nearest the fireplace. Harry frowned; he had not expected Dumbledore would want to stay for any length of time. "Uh, sir?" Harry asked hesitantly. "Aren't we leaving?"

"In due time, Harry," Dumbledore replied, "but there are a few matters that must be discussed first, and I would prefer not to do so in the open. We will inconvenience your aunt and uncle for only a short while longer."

Vernon, who had been standing in the doorway of the living room, dumbfounded by Dumbledore's actions, finally found his tongue again. "Oh, you will, will you?" he growled incredulously, as if he couldn't believe Dumbledore's cheek. He strode into the room, Petunia at his shoulder, glaring at the professor.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied simply. "I shall." His wand was suddenly out, before Harry had even seen his hand move, and with a flick he sent the sofa behind the Dursleys zooming forward, knocking them off their feet and onto the cushions in a heap, then zooming back in place.

"Harry, will you have a seat as well, please?" Dumbledore asked, pointing to another armchair, which slid forward to where Harry was standing and holding his jacket. Still anxious to leave, but nevertheless curious what the professor wanted to discuss with the Dursleys, Harry sat down, dropping his jacket on an armrest. Doing so, he noticed as Dumbledore put his wand back within his robes that his right hand was blackened and shriveled, as if it had been burned.

"What happened to your hand, sir?" Harry asked, impulsively.

But Dumbledore shook his head. "Not now, Harry." He turned back to the Dursleys, smiling expectantly. For their part, Vernon and Petunia looked back at him with varying amounts of confusion, annoyance, and fear. After several seconds, Dumbledore said, "Well — I had assumed that by now you would have offered us some refreshments, but the evidence suggests that assumption is optimistic in the extreme. So —" With another twitch of the professor's wand, a dusty brown bottle and four glasses appeared in midair. The bottle poured generous measures of a honey-brown liquid into each glass, then disappeared again as each glass floated toward one of the four people in the room.

Dumbledore took his glass as it paused in front of him, smiled at Harry and the Dursleys and said, "Madam Rosemerta's finest oak-matured mead," as he raised it in the air, adding, "To your good health," then took a long sip. Harry, who had taken his glass as it arrived, sipped as well. He had never tasted anything like it before, but it was very good. Both Vernon and Petunia, after looking at the glasses, then at each other with frightened expressions, ignored them, both sitting stock-still as the glasses floated insistently in front of them, bobbing slowly and invitingly up and down. Dumbledore smacked his lips appreciatively, and Harry got the impression that the headmaster was enjoying the situation. If the truth were told, Harry was enjoying it as well.

But he stopped enjoying it as soon as Dumbledore began speaking again. "Well, Harry, a difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By _us_ I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first of all I must tell you that Sirius's will was discovered a week ago and that he left you everything he owned."

"What —?" Harry said, surprised and upset by this news. "No!"

Vernon had leaned forward upon hearing this as well. "His godfather's dead?"

"No, he's not!" Harry insisted angrily. He glared at Dumbledore. "I told you what happened to him — he's simply beyond the veil. Bellatrix's spell didn't kill him!"

"Harry," Dumbledore said, in a calm voice. "No one has ever returned from beyond the veil — with one exception, of course," he added, as Harry began to protest. "But that was under extenuating circumstances."

"What did his godfather leave him?" Vernon asked, trying to thrust himself back into the conversation. Neither Harry nor Dumbledore looked at him.

"For your information, Professor, I've got Odin's promise he'll help me find Sirius if I help him find his son, Thor," Harry said, standing. "That's what I intend to do — with your help or without it!"

"Naturally I will offer whatever help I can," Dumbledore replied. "But we have a more pressing issue at the moment. The Order has been forced to vacate number twelve, Grimmauld Place, subsequent to the final disposition of Sirius's will."

"What? Why?" Harry wanted to know. "Didn't you just say he left everything to me? If that includes Grimmauld Place, I don't care if you stay there or not — you can do whatever you want with it!" One of Vernon's eyes began twitching convulsively upon hearing this.

"That is generous of you, Harry," Dumbledore said, with a small nod of thanks, "but it is not quite as simple as that. Black family tradition decreed that the house was handed down the direct line, to the next male heir with the name Black. Sirius was the very last of the line, as his younger brother Regulus predeceased him and both were childless.

"While Sirius's will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you to have the house, Harry, it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the place to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pureblood."

Harry nodded, remembering the shrieking image of Sirius's mother, in the portrait that hung in the hall of his godfather's home. "I'll just bet there is," he said, grimly.

"Wait a minute — he's been left a _house_?" Vernon said, loudly. Petunia reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off angrily. Neither Harry nor Dumbledore paid any attention to him.

"Well, quite," the professor said, to Harry. "If that is the case, then ownership of the home would pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would be his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry's expression hardened. Bellatrix, the woman who put Sirius through the veil, getting his house because he wasn't around to claim it? "No!" he said, loudly.

"Obviously, we would like to prevent her from getting it as well," Dumbledore pointed out. "The whole situation is quite complicated —"

"_Someone had better ruddy well start explaining what's going on_!" Vernon suddenly shouted, pushing the floating glass of mead in front of him violently aside. It slammed into a wall and shattered, sending the brownish liquid everywhere. Petunia moaned, more in dismay at the mess than in fright, while both Harry and Dumbledore turned to look at Harry's uncle.

"You come into my house in the middle of the night, take over my living room, and now you're trying to talk the boy into giving you his house!" Vernon accused, pointing a stubby finger at Professor Dumbledore, who regarded him calmly. "You've had him bamboozled for the past five years, but we see what you're up to, now!"

"You don't know what you're talking about, Uncle Vernon," Harry said warningly.

"The house in question was bequeathed to Harry in his godfather's will," Dumbledore spoke quietly. "It will be his, to do with as he sees fit, once we determine that it has indeed passed to him."

"How are we going to figure that out?" Harry asked.

"Very simply," Dumbledore said, readying his wand once more. "If you have indeed inherited the house, then you have also inherited —" the wand twitched, and with a loud crack a house-elf appeared — a repulsive, wizened one with a snout for a nose, enormous bat-ears, and huge bloodshot eyes, covered in rags, crouching on the shag carpet between the four of them. Petunia let out an ear-splitting shriek at this further indignity heaped upon the cleanliness of her home, and Uncle Vernon blinked at it disbelievingly for several moments before bellowing, "What the ruddy hell is _that_?"

"— Kreacher," Dumbledore finished.

Kreacher, the Black family house-elf, was obviously not in a good mood either, as it kept shouting, "Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't Kreacher _won't_!" stamping his feet and pulling his ears down around his face. "Kreacher belongs to Mistress Bellatrix, not the nasty Potter brat!"

"As you can see," Dumbledore spoke just loudly enough to be heard over Kreacher's protests. "Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership, Harry."

Harry was staring at the howling house-elf in revulsion. "Well, I don't want _him_, either!"

"Get it the hell out of our house!" Vernon shouted, ineffectively.

"Would you prefer he pass into the ownership of Bellatrix Lestrange?" Dumbledore pointed out. "Bear in mind that he has lived in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year."

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, realizing that Kreacher couldn't be allowed to give any of the Order's secrets to Bellatrix, or any of the other Death Eaters, for that matter. "So what's he doing _here_?"

"As I said," Dumbledore explained, calmly. "If you have inherited the house, you have inherited Kreacher. If he is indeed yours, he must obey your orders. Give him one now and see if he obeys it."

"Kreacher won't, Kreacher _won't_, Kreacher WON'T —" the house-elf kept repeating over and over, until his voice was nearly a scream.

"Kreacher, shut up!" Harry shouted.

Kreacher grabbed at his throat, looking as if he might choke. His voice had cut off in mid-shout. His bloodshot eyes bugged open even wider, and he flung himself down on the carpet, kicking and pounding the floor in silent protest.

Dumbledore smiled. "Well, that simplifies matters," he said cheerfully. "This means you are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and all its contents including, of course, Kreacher."

Harry looked down at the house-elf, still throwing a silent tantrum on the floor. "I — I don't have to keep him around, do I?" he asked, looking at Dumbledore.

"Not if you don't want to," the headmaster replied. "I might suggest that you send him to work in the kitchens at Hogwarts, where the other house-elves can keep an eye on him."

"Fine," Harry said. He turned to Kreacher. "Kreacher, I want you to go Hogwarts and work in the kitchens with the other house-elves."

Kreacher gave Harry a looking of deep loathing, but nodded and disappeared from the floor with a loud _crack_.

Petunia, who'd been pressing herself as far back into the sofa as possible, slumped in relief, seeing the nasty little beast had disappeared. Vernon, on the other hand, looked furious at being ignored. "About bloody time you got that — that _thing_ — out of here!" he shouted. "Now you can get you ruddy arse out of here, and for good — I don't ever want to see you around here again!"

Harry's expression darkened. Dumbledore had been unfailingly polite — albeit a bit mischievous — in his conversations with the Dursleys, and his uncle had acted like a git. "After today," he spoke up, "I don't think Professor Dumbledore will _need_ to come back again."

"I wasn't talking to _him_, boy," Vernon growled, pointing his stubby finger again, this time toward Harry. "I was talking to _you_. You've more than worn out your welcome around here, and from what I gather you've got a house to live in now. That's where you _ought_ to be!"

"I had planned to address this very issue before I left your home this evening," Dumbledore spoke up, his voice betraying no tension or anxiety over the fact that Harry's uncle had just kicked him out of his home. "It is very important that Harry be allowed to return to Privet Drive one final time, to renew the magical enchantments —"

"Magic!" Vernon growled. "More — bloody — _magic_!" Vernon made a slicing motion across his neck. "I've had it up to _here_ with all of it!"

"Vernon —" Petunia began, warningly, seeing what she thought was annoyance on Professor Dumbledore's face, and anger on Harry's. "It doesn't matter —"

"Well, it matters to _me_!" Vernon shouted, whirling on her, and Petunia shrank back into the sofa, looking cowed. "You've done what he's asked of you for fifteen years," he told her, pointing toward Dumbledore. "Now it's our turn to say what's what around here!"

Petunia looked so frightened that Harry took an instinctive step forward. "That's _enough_, Uncle Vernon," he said, trying to stop his uncle's shouting.

Vernon gave him an amused sneer. "Oh, so now _you're_ doing it too, eh — trying to tell me what to do in my own home! Well, it's not going to work, boy!" He turned toward Harry, his hands balled into fists.

"I'm warning you…" Harry said, tensing up. Long experience had taught him to stay as far out of reach of his uncle as possible. But that was before… "Don't make me angry," he said. "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

Vernon gave a harsh laugh. "I've _seen_ you angry, boy — you aren't that much!" He put his hands on his hips, taking a challenging stance in front of Harry. "What do you think you can do, eh?"

Harry's felt his blood ready to boil. After fifteen years of being unable to do anything against his uncle, the moment had finally come… "I can do — _this_," he said, and reaching down, struck his wand against the floor.

"Harry — don't!" Dumbledore cried, but his voice was drowned by the roar of thunder. In a flash of light, Harry had been replaced by a tall, imposing stranger in long, black hair, a dark blue leather tunic and leggings, with a flowing red cape and silver helmet with eagle's wings on either side. In his massive hand was a hammer, which he lifted and pointed at Vernon.

Vernon's face, which had been purple with anger, paled rapidly as his eyes widened so much Harry thought they would fall out of his head. "You and I need to talk, Vernon Dursley," Harry said, in the deep, commanding voice of Thor the Asgardian.

"W-w-what t-the devil happened t-to the b-boy?" Vernon stuttered, looking around the room for the scrawny teenager who'd been standing in front of him. His attitude, so belligerent only moments earlier, had changed completely in a matter of seconds. He backed up until his legs hit the edge of the sofa. "W-who the devil are _you_?"

Harry stepped forward, clamping his free hand around Vernon's throat; it was now quite large enough to easily encompass the burly man's neck. He lifted until his uncle was standing on tiptoe. "I'm someone who doesn't like seeing Harry mistreated _or_ Professor Dumbledore's wishes ignored. If he wants Harry to come back here once more next year, I think it's in your best interest to allow it. Don't you agree?"

"Gllglk," Vernon said, barely able to breath with the huge hand wrapped around his neck. He managed to nod, and Harry released him. Vernon sagged, and a dark stain ran down the length of this pants, yellow liquid splashing from beneath his pants cuff onto the floor.

"Vernon!" Petunia cried. "The carpet!"

Harry turned and strode from the room, snatching up the jacket from the chair he'd been sitting in. The front door of the house slammed a moment later, followed by the rumble of thunder.

Professor Dumbledore stood, regarding the Dursleys — Vernon, standing in a growing yellow puddle, looking ashen, and Petunia, staring at both her husband and Dumbledore in shock — for a moment, then doffed his hat. "Until we meet again," he said, pleasantly, and made his way to the door, which opened of its own accord at his approach, and closed behind him.

Outside, Dumbledore found Harry waiting for him, back in his normal form once again. "I'm not sure if that was wise, Harry," Dumbledore said as he reached Harry's side.

Harry shrugged. "You're probably right, sir." The anger his uncle had provoked in him had disappeared already, but it was scary to think how easy it would have been to crush the man's windpipe in his hand. It was also a bit cool, too. "But, at least we got him to agree to let me come back one more time — assuming I'll need to."

"The future is uncertain," Dumbledore replied, cryptically. "That time is nearly a year from now — we must see how events play out over the year."

Harry nodded. "Are we going to the Burrow now, sir?"

"Shortly," the headmaster replied. "I have an appointment to keep along the way, if you don't mind taking a few extra minutes — I have a meeting with an old friend."

Harry shrugged and nodded. He could be at the Burrow by himself in seconds, as Thor, but he was curious to see who this "old friend" of Dumbledore's was. He also had a few questions for the professor himself; Harry's hand was in his jeans pocket, fingering the tag that had been attached to Mjolnir when he'd picked it up in the Ministry of Magic. He hoped Dumbledore knew something about who'd put this tag on the walking stick.

"Where does this 'old friend' of yours live, sir?" Harry asked, as they walked down the path from number four and along Privet Drive.

"Oh, here and there," Dumbledore answered, vaguely. "It's been some time since I saw him last, and I just today found out where he'll be staying tonight. By the way," he added, glancing sideways at Harry. "Please keep your wand at the ready, Harry."

Harry blinked. Was that a suggestion that he be prepared to turn into Thor again? "But aren't I forbidden to use magic outside of school, sir?" he asked, trying not to sound argumentative.

"If we are attacked, I give you permission to use whatever countercurses or spells you may deem appropriate, Harry," the headmaster replied. "But I do not think you will be attacked tonight."

"Why not?" Harry wanted to know.

"You are with me," Dumbledore said, simply. They came to the first corner and Dumbledore abruptly stopped. "This should be sufficient," he said, then turned to Harry once again. "You have not, of course, yet passed your Apparition Test, have you, Harry?"

"No," Harry shook his head. Not that he needed to now, though, with the power of Mjolnir his to command. But there was no use in pointing that out to Dumbledore. "Don't I have to be seventeen to take that test?"

"You do," Dumbledore nodded. "For now, then, if you will please hold onto my arm. My left arm, if you please, Harry," he added, as Harry reached out to take his wand arm. "As you'll have noticed, my wand arm is a bit fragile at the moment."

Harry nodded and held onto Dumbledore's offered arm. "Here we go," the professor said, and the two of them vanished.

=ooo=

After leaving the cave in Norway, Loki had wasted no time in traveling to London, arriving in the middle of the city and watching, invisible, as the citizens there hustled and bustled around him. Their clothes were strange and varied, he saw, watching as stodgy businessmen, stylishly dressed women, and boisterous younger people passed him. Many of them carried small boxes or bags; those carried by the younger people, especially, seemed to be blaring out various types of noise — probably what passed for entertainment here, Loki surmised, as the young people carrying those boxes were smiling and sometimes singing along, to the annoyance of those around them. He watched for some time, until daylight dimmed and the crowds of people on the streets thinned to an occasional few, well after nightfall — though the streets sported formidable artificial lights that held back most of the darkness.

_London is somewhat bigger now than I remember it_, Loki mused to himself. Back in the days when it was known as Lundenwic it was barely more than a trading post — Loki had passed through a time or two back then, causing minor problems and disruptions among the mortals inhabiting the place. Now, it might rival Asgard in size, though Loki knew it could not compare to the Shining Realm in sheer splendor. Like all mortal inhabitations, this place was crude, smelly and vile. He smiled to himself — it would suit the Thunderer well, he decided.

It would not do, however, for him to stand around mocking the place or his stepbrother (though it was a pleasant diversion, while it lasted); Loki would need to locate the magic-users in this city, move among them, and discover what he could about the three wizards who removed the injured Donald Blake from the cave in Norway, bringing him here somewhere to London. He cast a magic detection enchantment, letting it extend outward from where he stood, seeking out signs of ambient magic and magical beings. One area of the city seemed to strongly radiate magic, and Loki teleported himself to that location, finding himself on Charing Cross Road.

He did not see anything immediately magical here, however — this part of the city looked much like the other parts, though it was a bit grimier and less populated. The wizards in this city did not seem to want to be seen, Loki pondered; he could find no obvious sign of anyone possessing magical powers walking the street. But they were around here _somewhere_, he knew!

Just then, he watched as three men approached where he was standing, invisible, along the side of the road. The men looked around furtively, as if not wishing to be seen, then entered a small, grimy pub situated between two stores — a business that looked oddly out of place compared to the rest of the street. The men themselves were dressed oddly as well — wearing long, dark cloaks and robes instead of the normal tunics and leggings most men Loki had observed so far in the clothing styles worn by most people here. Still invisible, he teleported inside the pub.

Inside, Loki looked around the room, finding it reminiscent of some mead halls he'd been in, both in Asgard and in Jotunheim; it had the stink of alcohol and sweaty bodies, and seeing the various denizens that populated it, he could well imagine how it had acquired the ambience! His attention returned to the three men who had entered. They had sidled up to the bar, looking around the place as they stood there, and the trickster noticed that no one gave them more than a furtive glance, as if no one wanted to be noticed by these men. Mildly curious, Loki strolled over to study them more closely.

The leader was a large man with unkempt gray hair and a beard, who looked powerfully-built beneath his robes. He was leaning with his back to the bar, staring at the other patrons, seemingly for the express purpose of making them uncomfortable, which the large man appeared to enjoy. The two men at his side were trying to catch the attention of the steward, or barkeep, a bald, toothless middle-aged man, who kept busy with other customers until the large man shouted, "Tom!" and he hurried over to them.

"Get these boys something to drink," he growled at Tom in a raspy voice. "Maybe it'll help calm their nerves," he added contemptuously.

"Firewhiskey," both men said, and threw down their coins as Tom poured the drinks, then hurried off. "It ain't jus' nerves, Greyback," the taller of the two, a dark-haired, hard-faced man whose head only reached to eye level of the leader. "You're askin' us to take on a pretty dangerous assignment."

"Dangerous?" the leader laughed, sounding like a dog barking. "One old man against the three of us? Like I said, Scabior, it's yer nerves."

"Eh," Scabior scoffed, then drank his firewhiskey, banging the empty glass on the bar. "Tom!" he called. "Another round for me!"

While the men had their second drink, Loki looked slowly around the room, trying to identify anyone there who might fit the description of an "old man" whom these three would possibly attack. He had already discovered that everyone here was capable of using magic, unlike most of the people he had encountered out on the streets of London; it seemed likely that he had found a gathering-point for these people, though he sensed even more magic nearby. Perhaps he should investigate that instead of observing these three men…

At that moment, the leader took the third drink of the man he'd called Scabior, which Tom had just poured, away from him, swallowing it in a single gulp. He repeated the gesture with the other man's third drink as well. "You've both had enough," he rumbled, dropping the glasses onto the counter, where they rolled off the opposite side, shattering on the floor. "I don't want the two of you getting sloppy on me. Come on."

Greyback, the leader, led the other two men, both grumbling over their lost drinks, through the dark, shabby pub into a small courtyard in the back, with Loki following invisibly behind them. He could sense even more magic beyond the courtyard walls. It would be a simple matter to teleport beyond the wall, to the other side, but he was curious to observe how the primitive wizards would effect their entrance.

Greyback had taken out a wand, similar to the ones Loki had sent the three wizards use in the memory scene from the cave, and was peering at the wall, grumbling, "Three up…two across… stupid way to hide the entrance — why can't the damned brick just be a different color?" He finally tapped a brick three times, and stepped back as the entrance to Diagon Alley opened before them. Loki smirked, amused by the simplistic magic.

The three men strode down the cobbled street as people stepped aside or ducked into stores at their approach. Loki, following behind, taking in the sights and sounds of the place, unimpressed with the level of magic he was finding. None of these wizards seemed to have any level of real proficiency in the arcane arts — he saw stores selling cauldrons, animals, wizarding clothing. There were shops selling everything from candy to ice cream. What were these people thinking? he wondered. It was as if they were playing at magic, not practicing it!

At one point they passed an intersection, the only one Loki had seen so far; he could sense there was some interesting magical items down the dark lane leading away from the main street, but the three men continued along without turning into it. A pity, Loki mused — he would have enjoyed exploring that other alley, if given a chance.

The men continued down the cobbled street, stopping at last before a shabby little storefront with a window displaying a wizard's wand on a cushion. A sign above the door read "Ollivander's — Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C." Loki rolled his eyes, but a quick detection spell told him that the building was occupied by a single, elderly man — probably the person these three were looking for.

Greyback, the large man, tried the door handle but found it locked. Grunting a curse, he took out his wand, pointed it at the door and muttered, "_Alohomora_." The door did not unlock. "What kind of spell has the old berk got on this door?" the man muttered angrily. He started to step back, to employ a stronger spell, but Loki waved a hand and the door unlocked and opened of its own accord.

"Heh," Greyback smirked, looking at his accomplices, as if what had occurred had been his intention all along. "Come on," he said softly. "Let's make this quick an' easy."

All the men immediately made this order moot as they clambered into the shop, slamming the door open loudly and thundering through the narrow shop to the back as Loki followed them into the shop, waving the door shut behind him and reestablishing the lock. He transformed his clothing, disguising himself with robes and a cloak similar to the ones the men were wearing, and caused his hair to become longer and straighter, similar to the styles he'd seen in the pub earlier. He had questions for these men, and he would enjoy making them answer, should they not cooperate.

Moments later the leader appeared again, followed by his two thanes dragging the old man from the store with them. Greyback, the leader, seeing Loki standing before the door brought himself up short, pointing his wand at the man's face. "Who the hell are you?" he rasped threateningly.

Loki waved a hand airily. "No one you need concern yourself with, mortal. But I _am_ curious — what do you intend to do with the old man?"

"As if it were any of your business," the leader replied gruffly, "which it ain't — we're takin' him to see the Dark Lord. He's got some questions fer 'im."

"The 'Dark Lord'?" Loki said, vaguely interested. "You serve some petty noble of the Svartálfar, the Dark Elves?"

Greyback grimaced, confused. It angered him to be confused, especially by some ignorant wizard who didn't have sense to stay out of the way of Death Eaters. "I don't have time for this! _Stupefy_!" he shouted, sending a Stunner at the man.

The red bolt would have impacted on Loki's chest, but he reached up and plucked it from the air before it struck him. The bolt crackled in his grip, and the trickster studied it for a moment. "Not a very effective spell," he commented to Greyback, shaking his head, then suddenly flung it back toward them. It struck one of the henchmen holding the old man, and he dropped to the floor, stunned. "Oops," Loki said, feigning surprise. "Did I do that?"

"Please help me!" the old man cried, before the other man, Scabior, pointed his wand at the man and he fell silent, unable to speak.

Loki snorted. "I don't _do_ the helping people thing," he sneered at the old man, then turned his attention back to the leader. "Who is this Dark Lord you speak of?"

Greyback was wary — he'd just seen this man pluck a Stunning spell from the air and throw it back, disabling one of his men. His wand held defensively before him, he asked, "How can you not have heard of the Dark Lord? _Everyone_ knows who he is!"

"I've been out of circulation for a while," Loki laughed hollowly. "I assume this Dark Lord is just a wizard, like you."

"Not just like me," Greyback disagreed. "He's a lot more powerful than I am!"

"Obviously," Loki observed, sarcastically. "That's why he sent you out to kidnap an old man for him." Greyback growled in his throat, rankled by the insult against the Dark Lord. His wand suddenly slashed the air in front of him, sending a cutting curse at the impudent fool, to take revenge.

A cut appeared across the front of Loki's cloak and robes. He looked down, frowning. "You've damaged my clothing!" he snapped, then pointed a finger at the tall, rangy leader. Greyback jerked as if impaled, his body arching in pain, and his feet lifted from the floor as he was suspended several inches in the air. Scabior made a sound of anger and pointed his wand at the trickster but Loki paralyzed him with a glance. The old man, who should have been running away in fright, was staring in fascination at the scene.

Loki walked up to the suspended leader, glancing up and down at his form appraisingly. "You seem to have a bit of the wolf in you — what's your name?"

Greyback groaned painfully. "F-fenrir Greyback," he muttered. "What — what did you do to me?"

"Oh, nothing yet, really," Loki smirked. "Your torment hasn't even begun, as far as I'm concerned.

"But I'm curious about your name," he went on, watching the man's agonized expressions. "Were you named for my son, by chance?"

"I — I don't know y-your son," Greyback gasped, shaking his grizzled head. "My father named me for the wolf who will kill Odin, the leader of the Norse gods someday, according to legend." A smile came to Loki's face.

He gestured and Greyback dropped to the floor, crumpling to his knees. "Your father has unwittingly saved your life this day, Fenrir Greyback." He put his hand on the man's forehead. "Now — think about this Dark Lord of yours." Greyback's eyes went blank as Loki absorbed information from his mind. _Interesting_, he thought to himself.

This man _was_ a wolf, in a sense — he was subject to a curse that transformed him into a wolf-human hybrid during the full moon. Yet he did not consider it a curse, even though he could not control it; indeed, he _reveled_ in it, Loki saw in his mind's eye, enjoying the power it gave him to terrorize those who were afraid of becoming like him. Well, the man thought small, but _someone_ had to do the hard labor for the leaders, Loki sneered.

This "Lord Voldemort" these men served was a wizard much like them, albeit with a few more tricks up his robe than most of these foolish mortals, who were barely more than casual users of magic — hardly any of them knew a hundredth of the knowledge he, Loki, possessed. This Voldemort, however, had been able to preserve his life, somehow, even after being destroyed somehow by a small child named — Loki grinned at the name that appeared in Greyback's mind: Harry Potter, the name of that pretender to Thor's hammer he'd seen in Asgard, with Odin!

Loki removed his hand from the werewolf. He'd seen enough. These fools — even this Voldemort — were minor distractions only, beneath his notice. He would let them continue with their petty squabbles, this "blood purity" feud the Dark Lord was waging against the other wizards of this hidden society. Loki had seen in Greyback's thoughts the desire of Voldemort and his minions to destroy Harry Potter. It would be amusing to let them try their might against the power of Mjolnir — Potter should be able to crush them, even more easily than Thor crushed the giants who dared battle him, Loki thought, darkly.

"Right," Loki told Greyback, pointing toward the door. "Off you go, then."

"W-what?" Greyback looked confused.

"Take your prisoner and go," Loki said, waving them away. He remembered the one henchman, still unconscious on the floor, and snapped his fingers. The man shook his head, looking about groggily. Loki waved a hand at Scabior, who was suddenly able to move again.

"Come on, Greyback," Scabior muttered. "Let's do what the man says." They grabbed the third man off the floor; he and Scabior then took Ollivander by each arm and headed for the doorway.

"Hold," Loki said. He'd suddenly remembered a final question he wanted to ask the werewolf. "You've hurt a lot of people," he pointed out. "Where would one of your kind go if he were injured?"

"One of _my_ kind?" Greyback growled. "We take care of our own!"

"I think he means wizards, Greyback," Scabior pointed out.

"Oh." Greyback looked taken aback. "Well, St. Mungo's, I s'pose. It's been around since I was a pup."

"Ah, very good! And where would I find it?" Loki inquired, politely.

"Well, er —" the image of its location formed in the werewolf's mind and Loki, rather than wait for the directions, simply plucked it out of his head.

"Right, got it," he said briskly. "Now, just one more thing — none of you will remember any of this conversation with me — only that you came in, kidnapped the old man, and escaped without anyone seeing you."

"How're we goin' to do that?" Scabior asked.

"Like so," Loki said, waving his arms at them. The three men and their prisoner vanished, reappearing outside the pub on the now dark street. Remembering only that they had escaped Diagon Alley unseen, Greyback and his men hurried Ollivander off down the street to a secluded side street, where they Apparated away.

Meanwhile, in the now-empty shop, Loki considered what he'd just learned. It seemed reasonable that the three wizards who'd spirited Thor's unconscious Blake form away to London had taken him to this St. Mungo's, which Loki had gathered from the werewolf's mind was a healing center for magical folk. He hoped Blake would be there — or at least someone who might remember the man, if he'd spent any time there. Loki smiled, feeling himself that much closer to finding and eliminating his cursed step-brother, and vanished from the shop.

=ooo=

It seemed as if Harry had barely laid down and closed his eyes in Fred and George's bedroom before a sound like a cannon shot awoke him. He sat bolt upright in bed as he heard a rasp of curtains and sunlight dazzled him. Shielding his eyes with one arm, he groped for his glasses on the bedside table.

"Whatsgoinon?" He grunted as a hand smacked him hard on the top of his head.

"We didn't know you were here!" said a loud, excited voice.

"Ron, don't hit him!" a young woman's voice said reproachfully.

Harry found his glasses and slipped them on, finding his tall, gangly red-headed best friend standing next to him. "Yes, Ron, don't hit him," he said, rubbing the top of his head.

"Sorry," Ron grinned. "All right?"

"Yeah, never better," Harry smiled as well. "You?"

"Not bad, other'n worrying about where the bloody hell _you_ were, mate," Ron said, then dragged a cardboard box over next to the bed and sat down on it. Hermione, Harry saw, had already perched herself on the edge of his bed, and was scrutinizing Harry carefully. "Dumbledore said you were off doing something," Ron added, as a way of name-dropping.

"You talked to Dumbledore?" Harry sat up straighter in bed, looking at the two of them. "When was this? What did he say?"

"Few days ago," Ron shrugged. "Said you were —"

"What _were_ you doing, Harry?" Hermione cut over Ron suddenly, still studying him carefully. Harry wished the professor had mentioned he'd talked to Ron and Hermione last night when he dropped Harry off at the Burrow after visiting Horace Slughorn. "You were gone for three weeks!"

"I had — things to do," Harry answered, evasively. "Personal things."

"Like what?" Hermione persisted.

"Go on, you can tell us," Ron put in. "We're your best mates, aren't we?"

"Well, yeah…" Harry gave Ron a look. "_Course_ we are!"

"So —" Ron gave him a _so-give-it-up_ gesture. "What's goin' on? What'd you do with Dumbledore yesterday? Mum said he dropped you off late last night!"

"We went to see an old teacher," Harry said, glad for a momentary reprieve. He wasn't sure yet whether he wanted to tell them about Mjolnir and where he'd really been the past three weeks. "His name's Horace Slughorn. The professor wanted me to help persuade him to come out of retirement."

"Oh," Ron looked vaguely disappointed. "We thought —"

Hermione coughed, suddenly, and Ron glanced at her for a moment before continuing "— we thought it'd be something like that."

Harry managed not to smirk. "Oh, you did?" he said, amused.

"Well…yeah," Ron looked at Hermione again, who was shooting Rom a _convince-him_! look. "Umbridge is quits, so obviously we need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, don't we? Erm, so what's he like?"

"He looks a lot like a walrus," Harry remembered, thinking of the short, stout Slughorn, with his large mustache and bald head. "He said he used to be the Head of Slytherin House… is something wrong, Hermione?"

Hermione's face, which had held an expression of analytical detachment as she stared keenly at him, immediately rearranged itself into an unconvincing smile. "No, not at all! So, um, did Slughorn seem like he'd be a good teacher?"

Harry stared at her a moment, then shrugged. "I dunno. Dumbledore wants him back, but that's no guarantee, is it?" He paused a moment, considering again whether he should tell them what had happened in the past three weeks. It was an incredible tale, after all… Harry opened his mouth to speak —

"Well he can't be any worse than Umbridge, though I know someone who is," said a voice from the doorway. It was Ron's younger sister, and she stepped into the room wearing a frown, though she smiled a bit as she looked at him. "Hi, Harry." She shut the door and sat down on the bed next to Hermione.

"Hi," Harry said, almost grateful for the interruption. "What's up with you, Ginny?"

Ginny's head jerked toward the hallway. "Oh, it's _her_. Phlegm. She's driving me mad."

"Phlegm?" Harry asked, completely confused. "Are you sick or —"

"No," Ginny said, a bit crossly. "You've been off doing who-knows-what for the past three weeks, though this lot thinks you were off trying to find a way to bring your godfather back —" both Ron and Hermione winced at Ginny's words; Harry's eyebrows shot up "— so I guess you don't know what's been going on round here. It's —" her voice cut off as the door swung open again, and a young woman stepped in, carrying a breakfast tray. But what a woman it was!

She seemed to be of such breathtaking beauty that it was as if the room had suddenly become airless. Tall and willowy, with long blonde hair, she seemed to emanate a faint, silvery glow. And, Harry saw, she was smiling at _him_!

"'Arry," she spoke in a throaty, sensual voice. "It 'as been too long!"

"Uh, hi," Harry said, as the young woman swept across the room, placing the tray in front of him, leaning over as she did so that her face was only inches from his. She looked up at him and smiled, and Harry's vision seemed to cloud.

"There was no need to bring up the tray," an indistinct voice spoke crossly. "I was about to bring it up!" Harry finally recognized it as Mrs. Weasley, who'd come to the doorway behind the young woman.

"Eet was no trouble," Fleur Delacour said, smiling as she looked up into Harry's green eyes; her own blue eyes seemed to sparkle with happiness as she leaned forward, kissing Harry on each cheek. Harry smiled, blinking — the places were she'd kissed him felt hot. "I 'ave been longing to see 'im. You remember my sister, Gabriella, 'Arry? She never stops talking about you. She will be delighted to see you again."

"Oh?" Harry was nearly speechless with Fleur so close to him. And now her _sister_ —? "Er, is she here, too?"

Fleur smiled, straightening up; she ran a finger along Harry's cheek as she said, "No, silly boy! I meant next summer, when we —" She stopped, seeing Harry's confused expression. "But, you do not _know_?"

Her blue eyes widened in surprise and she turned, looking reproachfully at Mrs. Weasley, who said, "He only arrived late last night, Fleur! We just hadn't gotten round to telling him yet."

Fleur shrugged, then turned to look at Harry once again, a beatific smile on her face. "Bill and I are going to be married!"

"Oh," Harry said, feeling a strange emptiness in his chest at this news. But that was probably just because Fleur was part veela, a female capable of influencing men's feelings for them. He managed to smile. "Wow, that's—that's great. Congratulations!" He couldn't help but notice, however, that Mrs. Weasley, Hermione and Ginny all seemed less than thrilled at this news, and none of them were looking at one another.

"Thank you, 'Arry!" she smiled and leaning over, kissed him on the cheek again. "I 'ave been working at Gringotts part-time, to practice my Eenglish, and Bill is working so very 'ard right now, 'e brought me 'ere to the Burrow to meet 'is mother and father, and family. I was zo pleased to 'ear you were coming! Zere isn't much to do 'ere unless one enjoys cooking and feeding chickens! Well, enjoy your breakfast, 'Arry."

With that, Fleur turned gracefully and seemed to glide out of the room, closing the door behind her. There was a few moments of silence.

Mrs. Weasley gave a long, slow sigh, shaking her head. Ginny leaned toward Harry, speaking quietly. "Mum hates her, by the way."

"I do not _hate_ her!" Mrs. Weasley whispered crossly. "I just think she's — she and Bill are hurrying this engagement along much too fast, that's all!"

"They've known each other a year," Ron said, sounding every bit as dazed as Harry felt, after being so near to Fleur for so long.

"That's not very long!" Mrs. Weasley snapped. "Oh, it's because of You-Know-Who coming back into the open — young people think they might be dead soon, so they rush into all sorts of decisions. It was the same last time—people were eloping left, right and center —"

"Like you and Dad did, right?" Ginny put in, slyly.

Mrs. Weasley flushed a bit. "Well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the use in waiting? But Bill and Fleur… well… what do they really have in common? He's a hard-working, down-to-earth sort of person, and she's a…"

"A bint," Ginny finished. Hermione covered her mouth, and Mrs. Weasley looked shocked. "Alright — a cow, then. But Mum, Bill's not _that_ down-to-earth. He's a Curse-Breaker, isn't he, so he likes a bit of excitement, of adventure, some glamour in his life… That's probably why he's gone for Phlegm."

"Stop calling her that, Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley told her sharply. She looked around the room, her eyes finally falling on Harry. "Harry, eat your eggs while they're warm, dear. Well, I should be getting on…" She left the room.

With both Fleur and Mrs. Weasley gone, the aroma of the eggs was making Harry feel hungry. He dug into them, watching Ron shake his head experimentally, as if he were trying to clear water out of his ears. He knew exactly how Ron felt. "Don't you get used to her being around after a while?"

"Well, yeah," Ron answered. "But when she jumps out at you, like just then…"

"It's pathetic!" Hermione snorted, jumping up from the bed and walking to the corner furthest from Ron. Ginny, meanwhile, was giving her brother an appraising look.

"So you don't _want_ her hanging around here forever?" she asked, a bit of incredulity in her voice. Harry wondered what she'd seen in Ron that he hadn't. Ron just shrugged.

"Well," Ginny said, lowering her voice conspiratorially once again. "Mum's not going to stand for them getting married so soon, if there's anything she can do about it."

"But what _can_ she do about it?" Harry asked, between mouthfuls of eggs.

"Tonks," Ginny grinned. "She keeps trying to get her round for dinner, when Bill's here. That would be alright with me — I like her better'n Phlegm anyway."

"Sure, like Bill would dump Phlegm — I mean, _Fleur_! — for Tonks," Ron said, sarcastically. "No bloke in his right mind would!"

"She's a lot nice than Phlegm!" Ginny said, savagely.

"And more intelligent — she's an Auror!" Hermione added, from the corner.

Harry frowned. "But Fleur's not stupid," he pointed out. "She was smart enough to enter the Triwizard tournament."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, not you too, Harry!"

Ginny gave him a withering look. "I suppose you like the way she says ''Arry,' don't you?" she snapped.

_Blimey, they _really_ don't like Fleur_, Harry thought. He should have kept his mouth shut. He took another mouthful of eggs to avoid answering.

Seeing he wasn't going to respond, Ginny looked back at Ron. "I'd much rather have Tonks in the family," she said. "At least she's a laugh."

"She hasn't been much of a laugh lately," Ron observed. "These days, she looks more like Moaning Myrtle."

"She just hasn't gotten over what happened," Hermione pointed out. "You know — he was her cousin, after all!"

Harry closed his eyes. They'd finally gotten round to Sirius. He wasn't really sure how to handle this; he wasn't ready to bring Ginny in on his secret — in fact, he still wasn't _that_ sure about Ron and Hermione! He decided to stay out of it and began scooping eggs into his mouth as a way of avoiding conversation.

"But they barely knew one another," Ron was objecting. "He was in Azkaban for half her life, an' before that their families had never met —"

"That's not the point," Hermione said, as Harry ate another mouthful of eggs. "She thinks it's her fault he died."

_He's not dead_! Harry wanted to shout. Instead, he quickly swallowed his eggs and asked, "How'd she work that one out, then?"

"She was fighting Bellatrix before Sirius did," Hermione replied. "She figures if she'd finished her off first, Sirius wouldn't have gone through the veil."

"That's stupid," Ron said.

"It's survivor's guilt," Hermione explained. "Remus tried to talk her round, but she's really depressed. She can't even change her appearance anymore!"

"What?" Harry was surprised to hear this. "Why not?"

"I don't know, but somehow her powers must've been affected by the trauma of Sirius's death," Hermione surmised. "She's really depressed."

The door suddenly opened again, and Mrs. Weasley's head popped inside. "Ginny," she whispered. "Come down and help me with lunch."

"But I'm talking to this lot!" Ginny said, outraged.

"_Now_!" her mother snapped, and withdrew.

"She just wants me down there so she's not alone with Phlegm!" Ginny said crossly, getting up and slouching over to the door. She added as she opened the door, "You lot had better get down there quickly," then she was gone.

No one spoke. Hermione was still standing in the corner, shooting irritated glances at Ron, who had taken a piece of toast from Harry's tray and was nibbling on it. Harry took advantage of the lull in the conversation to polish off his eggs, leaving the last piece of toast for Ron. He still needed to work out what he was going to tell them about what had happened in Norway and Asgard. As well as how he'd come by the magical hammer…

"So what else has been going on?" Ron suddenly asked, speaking around the piece of toast in his mouth. "You were telling us before we were so rudely interrupted…"

Harry cast about for any other news he might tell them. "Well, Dumbledore's going to give me private lessons this year."

Ron choked on the bit of toast in his mouth, and Hermione gasped.

"You sure kept _that_ quiet!" Ron snapped, spitting half-eaten toast into his hand.

"I just remembered," Harry said, honestly. "He told me last night, before we came in — we stopped for a chat in your broom shed."

"Oh," Ron shuddered, thinking of spiders. "Blimey," he went on, "private lessons with Dumbledore! I wonder why he's…."

His voice trailed off, and Harry saw him and Hermione exchange glances. He could imagine what they were thinking. Well, Dumbledore had suggested last night that he should tell them about this. "I think it has something to do with the prophecy," he said, staring downward at his empty plate.

Neither of them spoke. "You know," Harry continued, still looking at his plate. "The one the Death Eaters were trying to steal. The one about Voldemort and — me."

"Nobody knows what it said, though," Hermione added quickly. "It got smashed." Harry knew this already — he'd been the one who'd accidentally smashed it, as Thor, when he'd broken free of chains Lucius Malfoy had tried to bind him with.

"But the _Prophet_ says —" began Ron, but Hermione shushed him.

Harry looked up at them. "The _Prophet_ got it right," he said, quietly. "I heard the whole prophecy in Dumbledore's office — he's the one who first heard it, so he could tell me the whole thing. It looks like I'm the one who's got to finish off Voldemort —" Ron flinched "—at least, it said that neither of us could live while the other survived."

Both Hermione and Ron looked aghast at this news. Hermione walked back over and sat on the end of the bed, looking at him. "Harry, oh Harry," she said, her eyes wide. "We wanted to talk to you, after we got back from the Ministry, but you were nowhere about. From what Lucius Malfoy said about the prophecy, though, how it was about you and Voldemort — stop that, Ron! — well, we thought it might be something like that." She shook her head. "Oh, Harry," she said again, almost in a whisper, then asked, "Are you scared?"

Harry almost smiled, in spite of himself. "No," he said easily.

"See?" Ron said to Hermione. Turning to Harry, he said, eagerly, "When we heard Dumbledore would be round to collect you Friday night, we thought it would be to tell you something or show you something about the prophecy! And we were sort of right, weren't we? Dumbledore wouldn't give you private lessons if he thought you were a goner, would he?"

"That's true," Hermione agreed. "What do you think he'll teach you, Harry? Really advanced defensive magic, probably, like powerful countercurses and antijinxes…"

But none of that was going to be necessary now, Harry thought. He had the most powerful weapon in the world in his hands — Mjolnir! As Thor, he expected he could dispatch Voldemort without any problem. Surely Professor Dumbledore realized that!

But, Harry suddenly wondered, perhaps he didn't? Dumbledore had read the book that Snorri Sturulson had written, over a thousand years ago. Though Harry had not been able to read it, it could not have listed all of the abilities Mjolnir possessed. Maybe Dumbledore didn't know everything it could do…

"What are you thinking, Harry?" Hermione asked, and he realized he'd been lost in thought. He just shrugged, saying nothing.

"Oh, come on!" Ron said, exasperated. "You're holding out on us, aren't you?" He crossed his arms, giving Harry a stern look Professor McGonagall would have been proud of. "I thought we were your best mates."

The guilt trip was working on him. "Well," Harry began, "there is _something_ —"

"What?" both Ron and Hermione leaned forward, eagerly.

"But it has to do with magic," Harry suddenly added. "I can't really show you here without getting in trouble with the Ministry again. We'll have to wait 'til we're back at Hogwarts." _Whew_! Harry thought, relieved. That would give him a little more time to think about how to tell them about Thor and the Hammer!

Both Ron and Hermione looked at one another, disappointed. "Oh, come _on_!" Ron whined again. "You can at least _tell_ us what it is, can't you?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "I have to show you. Otherwise you're not going to believe me."

"We'll believe you, Harry," Hermione said quickly. "May I not get ten O.W.L.s when they come, if I'm lying."

That jogged another memory of something Dumbledore had told him last night. "Oh yeah," he recalled. "I think Dumbledore said our O.W.L. results would be arriving today."

"Today?" Hermione blanched. "_Today_?" her voice was nearly a shriek. "Why didn't you think of that earlier — oh my God — you should have _remembered_ —" she leaped to her feet, looking about wildly. "I've got to see if they've arrived!" She bolted from the room.

Ron stood up from the cardboard box he'd been sitting on. "That sure lit a fire under her arse," he sniggered. "I'm going to go see what Mum's fixing for lunch. See you in a bit, Harry." Harry nodded and Ron left the room, closing the door behind him.

Well, he thought, a bit guiltily, he still couldn't bring himself to tell his two best friends about what had really happened over the past three weeks. It was more than a month until September first, when they would be at Hogwarts and there'd be no chance of the Ministry bollixing things up because he did magic out of bounds.

In addition, there had been one other matter he'd discussed last night with Professor Dumbledore. Reaching into a pocket of the jeans he'd worn last night, Harry pulled out the crumpled, tattered tag that had been attached to Mjolnir when he'd found it. He read the final line once again: "Rec'd by ELD - Department of Mysteries: 5 Jun 1962."

He's shown this tag to Dumbledore last night, asking if he had any idea who "ELD" might be. The answer had surprised him. "I believe Elphias Doge was working at the Ministry at that time, Harry," Dumbledore had told him. "I'm not sure what section he was in, but he might have been assigned to receive and catalogue magical artifacts. He might be able to give you some information about how it came to be there."

It was at least a starting point, Harry thought. He had no idea where Doge was at present, though, and Dumbledore had not thought to mention it last night. Well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it, just like he'd deal with telling Ron and Hermione about Thor and the Hammer, once they were at Hogwarts. He put on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, taken from the dresser in the room; Mrs. Weasley had placed all his clothes from his trunk there after washing them. Now that he had a definite plan in mind with regard to how Blake might be found, he could relax for a bit, at least until he talked with Doge.

He picked up Mjolnir, still disguised as his wand, from the bedside table where he'd left it before going to bed, and was about to go downstairs when he glanced at his trunk, seeing the old jacket he'd worn from Privet Drive last night. Remembering what he'd hidden inside it, Harry went over and picked it up, taking out his original wand. If Mrs. Weasley had happened to take this jacket, to wash it—! Harry wasn't sure he could have explained why he had two identical wands. He opened his trunk and hid his wand beneath all the stuff still in it; it wasn't nearly as full now that his clothes were no longer stuffed into it. His Invisibility Cloak was still in there, hidden where he'd placed it last time. Remembering that Dumbledore had told him to keep it with him at all times from now on, even at Hogwarts, Harry fished it out and refolded it; the light, silvery-gray material made it easy for Harry to stuff it in his back pocket. Closing the trunk and locking it, Harry went downstairs to see what was going on with lunch, and about Hermione's anxiety over their O.W.L. results.


	6. The Leaky Secret

**Harry Thunderer and the Uru Hammer**

**Chapter Six  
**"**The Leaky Secret"**

_Updated 25 June 2010_

In the kitchen, Harry found Hermione circling the room in high anxiety over her O.W.L. scores, as Mrs. Weasley tried to calm her down. "Dear, I would have noticed if any owl posts came this morning."

"Are you _sure_, Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked, wringing her hands. "Oh, I just _know_ I messed up Ancient Runes — I'm sure I made at least one serious error in translation! And my Defense Against the Dark Arts practical was no good at all. I thought the Transfiguration test went well, but looking back, there were some answers I might have —"

"All _right_, Hermione!" Ron said, irritably. "Will you give it a rest? You're not the only person here who's worried about their results. Besides, your owl's going to come, and you'll have ten 'Outstanding' marks on it, and —"

"Don't, don't, don't!" Hermione screeched, waving her arms wildly. "Oh, I just know I've failed _everything_!"

"What if we _do_ fail everything?" Harry asked, impulsively. "Then what?"

"Then we hope Fred and George have an opening for us down at their new joke shop," Ron quipped.

Hermione shot Ron a poisonous glare, but answered Harry's question. "We discuss our options with out Head of House," she said. "I asked Professor McGonagall before we left at the end of term."

"We did eet differently at Beauxbatons," Fleur said, sounding somewhat condescending. "I think it worked better than the way you do eet 'ere. We sat our exams at the end of our sixth year, not our fifth, and then —"

"Uh oh," Ron interrupted Fleur, pointing out the kitchen window. "Look!"

They all turned to look out the window; Hermione let out a tiny, high-pitched scream of panic. She bolted to the window, watching the three specks clearly visible in the morning sky and growing larger every second.

"They're definitely owls," Ron said, joining Hermione at the window and squinting at them.

"And there are three of them," Harry added, stepping up besides Hermione opposite Ron.

Hermione stared at them, looking terrified. "Oh no," she whispered. "Oh no, oh no…. what do we _do_?"

"Open the window," Mrs. Weasley said, and Harry and Ron began pushing it upward as Hermione stepped back, covering her mouth, her eyes wide with horror at being confronted with her anticipated failures.

The owls, three handsome tawnies, soared through the open window, landing on the kitchen table in a neat line. All three of them held out their right legs, each of which had a large, square envelope affixed to it.

"Oh, no…" Hermione kept repeating, desperately. When nobody else moved for several seconds, Harry stepped forward, moving toward the owl in the middle, the one which had his name written on the front of the envelope. He began undoing the string that held it to the owl's leg. On his left, Ron had stepped up alongside him and was fumbling with his own envelope. Finally, Hermione stepped forward as well and began undoing her envelope, her hands shaking so much her whole owl was trembling.

At last, Harry's envelope came free, and he took a letter opener Mrs. Weasley had placed on the table and slid it across the top of the envelope, then removed the piece of parchment inside, staring at his results. He'd failed Divination and History of Magic, as he knew he would; he'd fainted halfway through the latter examination. There was an "Acceptable" in Astronomy, but every other subject showed he'd passed with "Exceeds Expectations," except for Defense Against the Dark Arts, which had an "O" next to it — Outstanding!

He looked up to see how the others had done. Hermione had her back to him, but Ron was holding up his results and beaming. "Only failed Divination and History of Magic, and nobody cares about them! C'mon, swap!" Harry and Ron exchanged results. It was true, he saw — those were Ron's only two failing grades. But there were no "Outstandings" on his results, either…

Ron was looking at him, grinning. "Knew you'd be top in Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said, giving Harry a punch in the shoulder. "Well, we did all right, didn't we?"

Mrs. Weasley had taken Ron's results from Harry and was beaming at her youngest son. "Well done!" she said, ruffling Ron's hair. "Seven O.W.L.s — that's more than Fred and George got, combined!"

Ginny, who'd been waiting for Hermione to share her results, finally asked, "Hermione, how did you do?"

Hermione, her back still to them, didn't turn around. "I — not bad," she finally said, in a small voice.

"Oh, come off it," Ron said, striding over and taking the results from her hand. He glanced at them and shook his head. "Yep — nine "Outstandings" and one "Exceeds Expectations," in Defense Against the Dark Arts." He gave her a look that was half admiration, half exasperation. "You're actually _disappointed_, aren't you?"

Hermione shook her head, but it was so obvious she _was_ disappointed that Harry laughed aloud. Ron handed back her results and turned to Harry, grinning.

"Well, we're N.E.W.T. students, now," he said, grinning. "Mum, are there any more sausages left?"

Hermione and Ginny went off to commiserate over her one "Exceeds Expectations" — and if Harry knew Hermione, she'd be working on a study plan to make an "Outstanding" on her N.E.W.T. in the subject before the day was done. Ron was happily eating the last of the cooked sausages as Harry sat and watched. They discussed what kind of work they'd be doing in the N.E.W.T. classes.

Harry's one, tiny regret with his results was that the "E" in Potions meant that he would not become an Auror — Snape would never allow him to continue in the subject without an Outstanding O.W.L. Harry hadn't really thought about doing anything else after he left Hogwarts; he would probably have to discuss it with McGonagall when they got back to school.

For now, though — with the information he'd gotten from Professor Dumbledore about Elphias Doge, he needed to contact the man and find out what he knew about Donald Blake. Harry slipped a hand into his jeans pocket, touching the tag he'd found on the walking stick that had the initials "ELD" on it — initials Dumbledore had said were Doge's. He could write an owl, but he'd have to be careful — mail to and from the Burrow was being screened, so he'd have to be roundabout in his questions to Doge, or find a way to meet him somewhere, and soon. It had already been three weeks since Sirius went behind the veil, and he had no idea how long someone could last there.

=ooo=

Greyback and his men appeared in the country lane in Devon with their prisoner, the wandmaker Ollivander. The old man stumbled, but was jerked upright again by Greyback's lieutenant, Scabior.

Ollivander's aged eyes seemingly able to see more than most men would, even at this late hour and with almost no moonlight. "Where — where are we?" he croaked, looking around him, in a voice filled more with fascination than fear.

"Quiet, old man," Greyback rasped. "You'll find out soon enough. Someone wants to have a talk with you." Ollivander had been targeted specifically, by Bellatrix Lestrange on the Dark Lord's orders, to be brought here to Malfoy Manor; for what purpose Greyback did not know and had not been told, but it made little difference to him. As long as the Dark Lord gave him victims, he would do whatever needed to be done to keep him satisfied.

"Let's go," he told his men, pointing up the driveway to entrance to the grounds. "Rrrrr —" he suddenly snarled.

"What's wrong, Greyback?" his second-in-command, asked anxiously, glancing around to see if Greyback had sensed someone else in the area. It was possible the Ministry still had the Malfoy residence under surveillance — they had raided it shortly after many of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters had been captured during their attempt to steal the prophecy, but had found nothing and no one there but Malfoy's wife and son.

"Nothing, Scabior — it's nothing," Greyback growled. There'd been a sudden pain in his chest, though he knew of no reason for it; the kidnapping had been executed flawlessly, in his recollection, and they had left Diagon Alley without being seen. Greyback would admit no weakness to his underlings. "I'm anticipating dropping off our prisoner and finding someone juicier, more filling, for a meal." His men remained silent, uncomfortable with this aspect of their leader's character.

As they approached the gate, it swung open for them, and Greyback barked a laugh. "Ha! We were expected, I see!" They marched up the path to the manor's main door; on the front steps stood a black-haired woman, staring at them with heavily-lidded eyes and a triumphant sneer on her lips.

"You've brought him," she said, in a satisfied tone. "Good — the Dark Lord does not tolerate failure in his followers. Especially," she added, smirking at Greyback, "those who are not yet fully initiated —" an oblique reference to the fact that Greyback did not have the Dark Mark. "Bring him inside." She turned and walked into the house.

"Merlin's bollocks," Scabior muttered. "But I hate that —"

"Quiet!" Greyback hissed. "Keep your thoughts to yourself for now, if you value your skin." He strode up the steps and into the house, his two men marching Ollivander along between them, moving through the main hall, lit only by a few flickering oil lamps upon the walls.

Lestrange stood next to a door, watching as they approached. "You may leave him with me," she said, as they stopped in front of her. "I will commend you to the Dark Lord for your timely performance of his…request."

"Begging your pardon, ma'am," Greyback said, with forced politeness. "But we'd appreciate the opportunity to have the Dark Lord commend us himself. I gather he is very much interested in meeting this man."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Bellatrix had an amused quirk on her lips. "I'll announce you, then — but you may find his mood less than cordial at this late hour. _Don't_ come in unless you hear me tell you to," she warned, and slipped inside the door.

Greyback looked at his men, giving them a nervous grin. "She's just playing with us — fancies herself the Dark Lord's oracle, or high priestess." He jerked his head toward Ollivander, who was looking around at his surroundings far more alertly than Greyback would have expected for a old man. "The Dark Lord'll be grateful we brung this one to him as fast as we did."

"I hope so, Greyback," Scabior muttered, looking around just as Ollivander was doing, but with far more anxiety. "I'll be glad to be shot of this place. It's givin' me the creeps."

Bellatrix's voice suddenly rang out from inside the room. "Bring in the old man!" Greyback opened the door and walked into the room. The other two men followed closely, with Ollivander held between them.

The room was dim, almost too dark to see anything in the flickering light of the fire burning in the fireplace at the head of the room. In front of it was an ornate chair, and in it, a tall, thin figure regally sat regarding the four men who now stood before him. Off to one side was a sofa, Bellatrix sprawled indolently upon it, casually sipping at a goblet of blood wine. Next to her was a pale, blond young man, and for a moment Greyback thought the boy might be his reward for bringing in the old man, until he recognized the his resemblance to Lucius Malfoy — his son, no doubt, the werewolf thought, chagrinned. The boy sat stiffly, in marked contrast to Bellatrix — his aunt, if Greyback wasn't mistaken; her younger sister Narcissa was Malfoy's wife. The boy would no doubt be off-limits to his lycanthropic desires, Greyback decided — unless the Malfoys fell very far out of favor. Lucius Malfoy was currently in Azkaban, Greyback knew. Perhaps he'd yet have a chance to chase that rabbit down some other time.

He looked back toward the figure seated before him, just able to make out the pair of red, snake-like eyes that regarded him. "So, this is Fenrir Greyback," the man in the chair said, his voice high and clear, amusement in his tone. "Who wishes to be commended for following my orders."

His men stirred uneasily beside him, taking the Dark Lord's attitude as disapproving, but Greyback's instincts told him they were being tested. "My lord," he said respectfully. "We hoped you would be pleased with the speed with which we have delivered the wandmaker to you. I believed it was important to you since you requested him specifically."

"Astute observation," Voldemort replied. "You are not so dim as some seem to think you are, Greyback." He smiled thinly, glancing toward Bellatrix, who was chuckling softly, her eyes on him as she sipped her wine.

Greyback felt a flash of anger, but did not — quite — let it reach his face. "I am glad to have exceeded…_your_…expectations, at least, my lord," he said, with a slight bow.

Voldemort turned his gaze to their prisoner. "And now, our guest of honor…" he stared intently at Ollivander for several moments, who for his part looked calmly back at the person who'd had him kidnapped and brought here against his will. "I have lately been thinking again about a problem that has troubled me for nearly a year now. Can you guess what that problem is, Ollivander?"

"No, my lord," the old man answered. "I am but a simple wandmaker."

"Precisely why you are here," Voldemort declared. He leaned forward, his eyes locked with Ollivander's who, unfathomably, did not seem afraid, only curious. "You know, I expect, what _Prior Incantato_ is."

"Yes, my lord," Ollivander nodded. "It reveals the most recent spell a particular wand has cast."

"After I was restored to my full vigor," Voldemort went on, "I dueled the Potter boy, intending to destroy him — yet, a strange thing occurred. Our wands — connected — and images appeared, images of my wand's past…conquests. Somehow, they helped the boy escape." Voldemort was frowning now at those memories. "I want you to tell me why it happened. How could a mere boy have performed such magic?"

Ollivander nodded, quite interested by the Dark Lord's story. "_Priori Incatatem_," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "It rarely occurs, because seldom do two wands contain the same core of a single magical being. But in this case, your wand and Harry Potter's wand each contained a feather from the same creature — Fawkes, Albus Dumbledore's phoenix."

"Bah," Voldemort was not pleased by this news. "What possessed you to sell that wand to the Potter boy, old man? Did you not think that he and I would eventually meet and duel, and this — this _Priori Incatatem_ — would occur?"

"The wand chooses the wizard, my lord," Ollivander said, sounding unapologetic. "It has always been thus."

"Be that as it may," Voldemort sneered, "it still does not exculpate you from your responsibility in Harry Potter escaping me." He looked at Bellatrix. "There is a room below us that has been used to keep certain 'guests' here in the past, is there not? Have the old man stay there until I decide what to do with him."

Bellatrix gestured to Greyback. "You and your men take care of it."

Greyback nodded, and his two men took hold of Ollivander. As they started to lead him away, however, the old man looked at Voldemort, saying, "It won't be long before Harry Potter thwarts you yet again, Dark Lord."

"Hold," Voldemort held up a thin, pale hand, and Greyback's men stopped. "What do you know of Harry Potter, old man?" he hissed. "Speak quickly, or feel my wrath."

"I know only what you've shown me, my lord," Ollivander replied, his silvery eyes boring into Voldemort's. "You fear him."

Everyone in the room around the two men flinched. Suggesting that the Dark Lord was afraid of someone was tantamount to a death sentence. But Voldemort only laughed.

"You think you see fear in my eyes, old man?" Voldemort sneered. "Your Legilimency may work on children and lesser wizards, but do not presume to think you can delve into the soul of Lord Voldemort." Their eyes remained locked. "Now — _tell me what you know of Potter_!"

"I know he is destined for greatness, as you were," Ollivander replied, his tone deceptively soft. "As I told you so, the day I sold you your wand — yew, thirteen and one-half inches. And you have achieved that greatness, but at a terrible cost. Now the Potter boy stands poised to rip that greatness from you for himself."

"_How do you know that_?" Voldemort all but shouted. His wand was already out, before any of them realized he'd moved. "Tell me, old man, or —"

"— or you'll kill me?" Ollivander almost smiled. "Don't do me any favors, Tom Riddle."

Voldemort's head jerked up, startled by the use of his real name; his eyes suddenly blazed with unchecked fury. "_CRUCIO_!" he shouted, and Ollivander collapsed to the floor, screaming. On the sofa, Draco closed his eyes, wishing he could cover his ears to shut out the shrieks of agony that were being ripped from the old man. But he must not show weakness…

It was a full fifteen seconds before Voldemort raised his wand, halting the Cruciatus Curse, and Ollivander's body went limp. "Take him away," the Dark Lord ordered, curtly. "Lock him in the room below, and keep him there until I find some need for him." Greyback's men picked up the limp form and dragged it from the room.

Sitting back in his chair, Voldemort brooded for a time before speaking again, this time to Draco. "I am placing Ollivander in your care — you are responsible for keeping him alive."

"Yes, my lord," Draco replied. A week ago he might have balked at such a menial, demeaning task, but he'd learned to keep his mouth shut and not question the Dark Lord commands.

"You are to befriend him," Voldemort went on. "Earn his trust. He will naturally have a high degree of antipathy towards me now, for obvious reasons. Use that."

Draco nodded. "Like good Auror, bad Auror," he said.

Bellatrix smirked. "I've never met a good Auror," she said, contemptuously. "Most of them couldn't fight their way out of a parchment cauldron."

"Now, Bella," Voldemort admonished her. "Don't give your nephew false notions of Auror incompetence. They can be capable fighters, though most of them are constrained by the simplistic morality of the Ministry, taking away their ability to use the most effective spells against their opponents, who have no such compunctions about using them." Bellatrix smiled, a gleam of madness shining in her dark eyes.

"What do you plan to do with the old man, my lord?" Draco asked. "Without him in Diagon Alley, wizards won't be able to get quality wands."

"Many wizards won't," Voldemort corrected him. "The Muggle-borns, the half-bloods — these types will have to settle for scraping and scratching to find passable wands, both for school and to replace old or non-functioning ones.

"However, the pure-bloods will always have means to obtain them; I have had your aunt Bella talk with Borgin about keeping a small inventory of them at his own business."

"Who will be supplying them?" Draco wondered.

Voldemort smiled thinly. "Why, I believe there is quite a surplus at Ollivander's right now — he won't be selling them, since he'll be enjoying our company here for the foreseeable future, until I have no more use for him."

"Do you think the old man knows something about Potter?" Bellatrix asked, almost casually. "Or was he just trying to buy time for himself?"

Voldemort was silent for some time. "That may be the case," he said, slowly, "It was just a bluff on his part — contrary to what he said, there was no fear in my eyes, but in _his_!" Voldemort's red eyes seemed to smolder. "However, even if he knows nothing about Harry Potter and his newfound ability to transform into Thor, he will be needed to help me find a way to defeat his wand and _Priori Incatatem_."

"But why wouldn't Potter just become Thor all the time, if he can?" Draco wanted to know. "What I can't figure out is why the _Prophet_ hasn't come out with a story yet, telling the whole Wizarding world _that's_ why they think he's supposed to be the Chosen One! Being able to turn into a legendary Norse deity would really boost his image."

Voldemort smiled coldly at the young man. "The nature of having secrets is being able to keep them until the right moment, Draco," he pointed out. "If Potter is smart, he'll keep that information as secret as possible. Unfortunately for him, we already know about it. What we need to do now is find out how he accomplishes it, then take that ability away from him. That is the next assignment I'm giving you, Draco — to find out how Harry Potter is able to become Thor. Do you think you can do that?"

"Yes, my lord," Draco replied, speaking confidently.

"Excellent," Bellatrix nodded approvingly. "The Dark Lord has given you an important assignment, Draco!"

"And heed my words about secrets," Voldemort added, warningly. "Only you, I and your aunt know Harry Potter's secret — make sure you tell no one else—not even your mother."

"I will tell no one, my lord," Draco agreed.

"Good," Voldemort smiled. "Now, you may leave me. Begin planning your strategy as soon as possible — I want Harry Potter rendered helpless and he and his secret brought before me as soon as possible. Go."

Draco smiled as he and his aunt left the Dark Lord's presence. This was _one_ assignment he would enjoy doing — especially if he could get Potter's secret for himself.

=ooo=

Below the sitting room, a heavy door creaked open and Greyback's men dragged the unconscious Ollivander into the dank, musty cellar. They dropped him in the middle of the floor and walked out without a backward glance. Greyback tapped the lock with his wand, securing it, and he and the others made their way back upstairs. For several moments there was no sound at all in the completely dark room except for the labored breath of the unconscious man.

Then, his eyes opened, and he smiled.

Ollivander got easily to his feet, glancing upward, toward the ceiling, as if able to see through the stone separating him from the Dark Lord in the room above. "Fool," he said, softly. "I see my initial impression of you was correct — you're hardly worth bothering with.

"But," he continued, musing aloud in his soft voice, "it might be interesting to see you matched against Harry Potter, to test the boy's command of his new abilities. If, perchance, the boy were to fall, I would be blameless in his death — and Thor, imprisoned in the form of Donald Blake, would present no problem, wherever he is, to my plans. It would be a simple matter, once he's found, to eliminate him forever."

Ollivander's body began to shimmer weirdly. Another form seemed to separate from it, becoming solid and turning to face the old man, now swaying with fatigue. Loki smiled at the man, then reached out, touching him on the forehead. "Let's see… a few fragmented memories for you to dole out to the 'Dark Lord' in due course, while I have more pressing engagements to attend to." Ollivander sank to the ground in an exhausted slump as Loki vanished from the cellar.

=ooo=

The morning after their O.W.L. results had arrived, Harry walked into the Burrow's kitchen, finding Hermione already sitting at the table eating a piece of toast. "Morning," he said, sitting down and looking at her.

"Good morning, dear," Mrs. Weasley, who was bustling around the kitchen preparing food, smiled at him. "What would you like for breakfast?"

"Some eggs and sausage, please," Harry replied politely. He'd noticed that even though his initial greeting had been directed at Hermione, she hadn't responded. "Good morning, Hermione," he tried again.

"Morning," she said, in a clipped tone. "Where's Ron?"

"Still sleeping," Harry said. "I went up and tried to wake him after I got dressed, but he just said, 'See you tomorrow, Harry,' and rolled over. I reckoned I'd let him kip."

Hermione shrugged, saying nothing and not looking at him. Harry had come to know her well enough over the past five years to tell that she was upset about something, something she didn't want to discuss in front of Mrs. Weasley. Well, that gave him a reprieve! he thought brightly — at least until he finished breakfast, which Mrs. Weasley had just set in front of him: a generous spoonful of scrambled eggs and half-dozen sausages, along with a fresh plate of buttered toast. Harry dug in, ignoring Hermione staring at him, though it hadn't taken him long to cotton onto what she wanted to talk about.

The letter they'd sent out last night.

He'd had spent the rest of the morning and the better part of the afternoon yesterday trying to sort out a way to contact Doge without the Ministry being privy to the details. He'd come up with nothing that would bear scrutiny, he had to admit. He might have dug into his trunk, gotten out his spellbooks and come up with something workable in a day or two, but if anyone in the Burrow saw him pouring over his schoolbooks during the summer holidays, the game would be up — they'd want to know what he doing, and why. The only thing he could think of was to enlist Hermione's help. He would need it anyway, with the plan he'd had in mind. He recalled the meeting he'd had with Hermione late yesterday afternoon, thinking back over their conversation as he ate his eggs and sausage.

"Harry, what's this all about?" Hermione looked around the interior of the dark, smelly broom shed, flickering in the light of the candle Harry had brought, knowing they couldn't use their wands as Dumbledore had. It was the only place Harry could think of that Ron probably wouldn't come looking for them. "Why did we have to come _here_ for you to tell me what's going on?"

"It's private here," Harry said, then plunged right into his problem. "Look, I've got to send a letter."

"We needed to come out here for you to tell me _that_?"

"No, it's more complicated than — I've got to send it to Elphias Doge."

Hermione frowned. "Isn't he a member of the Order of the Phoenix? Why do you need to talk to him? Harry, does this have something to do with that secret you're keeping from Ron and me?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, he is, and yes, it has something to do with that secret. As for why I need to talk to him — well, I just need to. It's important. It's — it's about Sirius."

Okay, that wasn't _precisely_ the truth, but it was close enough for Harry to consider it not a lie. Hermione's expression had softened, but she was still shaking her head. "Harry, I know…you miss him, but he can't come back from beyond the veil."

_I did_! Harry wanted to shout, but instead said, "We don't know that for sure."

"Nobody ever has," Hermione pointed out.

"But some animals have," Harry objected. "They've tried it, with Kneazles!"

"How do you know _that_?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Dumbledore told me," Harry said shortly. "Look, Hermione, are you gonna help me send a letter to Doge or not?"

"The Ministry is going to read it, you know," Hermione said in a matter-of-fact tone. "They'll remove anything they think might compromise your safety — they might not even let the letter through." Her expression suddenly brightened. "You could send him a Patronus with a message! The Ministry couldn't stop _that_."

"But they'd _know_ about it, wouldn't they?" Harry pointed out. "They'd know I did magic out of bounds," though he still pondered the idea, even as Hermione looked chagrinned at her mental lapse. "I was thinking more along the lines of —" Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin. "Remember this?" he asked her.

"Of course I do! It's a Galleon!" she look at him as if he'd gone dozy, but Harry smiled knowingly. "Oh wait — is that the DA coin I gave you?"

"Right in two," Harry replied. "I was thinking — you put a Protean Charm on these coins so that when I put a date and time for a DA meeting the other coins would change as well, showing that date and time on their coins.

"So what if we enchant a coin to do the same thing, then send it to Doge, along with a letter requesting some information from him — something the Ministry wouldn't get upset about?" Harry waited anxiously for Hermione to reply.

"That might work," she mused, after thinking for several seconds. "Mind you, I won't be able to get a lot of information on a Galleon, but you'll be able to change the message as often as you want, so you can send as much information as you need to!"

But her face suddenly fell. "But I _can't_ cast the Protean Charm, Harry — I'm not of age yet, and we're not at Hogwarts. The Ministry will know I've done magic out of bounds!"

"Damn," Harry looked frustrated. "There's got to be some way through that. Too bad we can't ask Mr. or Mrs. Weasley to cast the spells — or even Bill, if he was here. They'd probably want to know what we were up to, though."

An expression of excitement appeared on Hermione's face. "Maybe we can ask Fred and George to do it! They can do some pretty amazing magic these days, from what I hear from Ginny about their new shop in Diagon Alley!"

Harry nodded agreement. The twins had been very grateful to Harry for the seed money he'd given them for their shop — the thousand Galleons he'd won in the Triwizard Tournament; he couldn't bear to keep the money after Cedric's death. "You're right! I'm sure we can get them to do it. And they're of age so the Ministry won't have a thing to say about it!"

"Oh, and one other thing," Hermione recalled. "Doge won't be able to respond to you with his coin — I haven't quite worked out how to make the spell work in both directions."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Harry said, beginning to get excited. "I could tell him to send a Patronus to me at the Burrow with his response! Hermione, you're brilliant!"

She looked away for a moment, and Harry wondered if she was blushing. "At least that's what _most_ of my O.W.L. results indicate," she said, self-deprecatingly. "All right, then — you write your letter to Doge, and I'll write one to Fred and George, if I can borrow Hedwig." Harry nodded. "Good. If they answer right away, I _think_ we can get this done by tonight. You're still staying in their old room?"

"Yeah."

"All right," she nodded. "I'll write Fred and George to come to the Burrow for dinner tonight, to surprise Mrs. Weasley. That'll be the cover story to get them here. We'll explain what we need, and hopefully they'll agree."

"They will," Harry said, confidently. "If it's about defying authority, they'll do it."

Hermione shook her head at that, but said nothing about the twins. "Once they get the coin ready, we'll send it and your letter out with Hedwig. We'll just have to hope the Ministry doesn't confiscate the coin — we're just lucky all Wizarding money radiates a faint magical aura."

They'd left the broom shed, returning to the house, and Hermione sent her letter to Fred and George. An hour or so later, just before dinner, the twins walked in through the kitchen door, surprising their mother, who was putting the finishing touches on dinner. Everyone sat down to a fine meal, with Fred and George describing how quickly their business was growing, even as other businesses in Diagon Alley seemed to be dropping off or closing.

"It seems rather strange, doesn't it?" Mr. Weasley remarked to his sons. "Even with all the problems You-Know-Who is creating, operating more and more in the open, that your joke shop is doing so well."

"Well, it seems like people need even more reasons to laugh these days," George pointed out. "We're just giving them what they want, I reckon."

"And our towering business abilities and ingenious marketing skills don't have a thing to do with it," Fred added, dryly.

After dinner, Fred mentioned they needed to find a few items they may have left in some boxes in their old room, and were going up to check. They asked Harry for some help looking, and he and Hermione followed them up. Ron started to follow as well, but Mrs. Weasley collared him to help with the dishes, to his vast annoyance.

Once up in their old room, Fred took out his wand and waved it at the door, sealing it and making it Imperturbable. "So what's up?" he asked Hermione. "Normally, Mum just badgers us to come to dinner 'til we give in — when we got your letter we knew something else was up."

Hermione reminded them about the DA coins. "Yeah," George recalled. "A right nice piece of magic on your part, Hermione. We thought about selling something like them as well. Bit limited, though — not much call to send someone a date and time on a fake coin."

"We thought of an enhancement," Hermione pointed out, as Harry pulled out his DA coin. "What if we enchanted a fake coin so it could send a few words on its face, rather than just changing the numbers along the side?"

Fred and George looked at one another. "You mean like this?" Fred asked, bringing a coin out of his pocket and showing it to Harry and Hermione. At the same time, George brought a similar coin out of his pocket. "Watch," Fred said, then tapped the face of his coin and said, "George, how's the weather there?" He tapped the coin once again with his wand.

George smiled, tipping his coin so the others could read it. On the back of his coin were the words, GEORGE HOWS THE WEATHER THERE. "It doesn't do punctuation," he admitted, as Harry and Hermione both marveled at the coin. "But it usually gets the message across. He pulled another coin out of his pocket. "I've got one I can send messages to Fred on, too. We're still working out how to get both charms on the same coin, probably on opposite sides."

"That's amazing!" Hermione exclaimed. "That's exactly what we were trying to do!"

"Here you go, then," Fred said. He and George each handed them their coins. "We can whip up another pair back at the shop."

"But what gets me, Fred," George looked at his twin. "Is how they knew we had these coins."

"We didn't," Harry said. "We were going to ask you to cast the charms to make them, since we can't do magic outside of Hogwarts until we're of age."

Both twins grinned at that. "What?" Hermione said after a moment, wondering what they were grinning at. "What's funny?"

"Oh, just that bit of fiction the Ministry wants all underage wizards to believe, that if they do magic out of bounds they'll be caught out," Fred explained. "We've been doing magic up in our room practically since we got our wands."

"What?" Harry sputtered. "How?" Hermione looked equally shocked.

"Well, at first we thought it was because Dad worked for the Ministry," George put in. "We thought maybe that gave us a bye. But then we heard that other students, mostly pure-bloods, were doing magic at home while on holiday and breaks. We found out that the restriction on underage magic is a joke — as long as you're someplace where adult witches and wizards routinely do magic, they can't tell _who's_ doing it, you or them."

Hermione looked shocked. "You mean — we could have done the Protean Charm ourselves, and nobody would have known it was us?"

George looked at Fred. "By George, I think she's _got_ it!"

"But why would the Ministry not want students practicing their magic?" Harry asked.

"Oh, they're afraid some Muggle is going to see something weird, then run off and tell his mates, and before you know it the whole world will know about wizards," Fred said, dismissively. "Basically, they're barmy."

"Anyway," George added. "Now you know the truth. Use it wisely, young Gryffindors," he cautioned them, in mock seriousness.

The twins stood. "Well, we've got to fly, we've got a load of stuff to do back at the shop before we open tomorrow," Fred said.

"Otherwise, we'd hang around and get you to tell us what you need those coins for," George added. "But, time is money, you know."

"And we're wasting both," Fred pointed out. He pointed his wand at the door, removing the lock and the Imperturbable Charm. "Ciao," both twins said, exiting the room.

With the coins in their possession, Harry brought out the letter he had written to Doge. Hermione read it over, resisting the urge to rewrite it. "It'll do," she said, and Harry took a tired-looking Hedwig out of her cage, hooting in annoyance at being called upon so soon after her trip to Diagon Alley and back, and tied the envelope with the letter to Doge and George's coin in it to her leg. They sent the letter off just moments before Ron burst into the room, asking, "So what'd I miss? What'd they take?"

"Nothing, Ron," Harry said. "They didn't find what they were looking for." Ron spent the next few hours speculating on why the twins had really come over.

"They're hardly here anymore," he said, "unless Mum badgers them for _days_ to come for a visit. I wonder what they're up to?"

Finally, some time past midnight, Harry convinced Ron to worry about it the next morning, and he and Hermione left the bedroom, leaving Harry to get into his pajamas and climb into bed, anticipating what would happen the next day when Dog had that letter and the coin.

Now, still avoiding Hermione's gaze, Harry was tucking into his eggs and sausage with seeming gusto.

"Oh, by the way, dear," Mrs. Weasley said suddenly. "I was just starting breakfast this morning when Hedwig flew in, with this on her leg." She placed an envelope on the table in front of him. "Poor thing, she looked so tired that I took it off her so she could get some rest. It seems to be a bit heavier than just a letter — do you know who it's from?"

"Er —" Harry stammered. He couldn't very well say Elphias Doge, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, since both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were members, too, and going round them to talk to another Order member might seem too dodgy. "It might be from one of my mates at school, wanting to know how I scored on my O.W.L.s."

"Well, that's nice," Mrs. Weasley beamed at him. "It's good to see that you're making other friends, Harry dear." She smiled at Hermione. "Not that there's anything wrong with the ones you have now, mind you!" She went back to continue fixing breakfast for the rest of the family.

Harry's plate was empty. "I — I better go see if Ron's up yet," he said, wanting an excuse to get away. He snatched the envelope off the table and set off toward the stairs. Hermione fell into step behind him. He looked back, giving her a _What're-you-following-me-for_? look, but she just pointed up the stairs, indicating he should keep going.

As they reached the second floor they ran into Ron coming down for breakfast. "Where are you two headed?" he asked, sleepily, covering a yawn.

"Come on," Hermione said, grabbing him by the arm. "Harry's about to tell us what his big secret is."

_Or one of them_, Harry thought, leading the way into Fred and George's room. He closed the door behind them, then sat down on the bed, with his two friends sitting down on either side of him, and tore open the envelope. A folded piece of parchment fell out, along with a Galleon.

"Hello!" Ron said. "Who's sending you money, Harry?"

"What does the letter say, Harry?" Hermione asked. As Harry began scanning it, she added, "Why don't you read it aloud, so we can all hear?"

Sighing softly, Harry began to read.

* * *

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Thank you so much for your recent request of my papers and other writings during my time at the Ministry of Magic. I regret to say that I no longer have them in my possession, but they are available from the Ministry, at no charge, from the Department of Records, if you wish to peruse them. I have returned your Galleon as I was unable to accommodate your request._

_You will also find that your Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, has a quite extensive collection of Ministry documents and papers, on a wide range of topics. I encourage you to discuss this with him as well._

_I hope you are enjoying your summer holiday and that you will return to school and your studies refreshed and invigorated this coming September first._

_I am, yours very sincerely,_

_Elphias Doge_

_

* * *

_

"Who's Elphias Doge?" Ron asked, quizzically, after Harry had finished reading. "And why'd you send him a Galleon, Harry?"

Hermione leaned forward, looking at Ron in surprise. "Don't you remember who he _is_? He's a member of the Order of the Phoenix!"

Ron's face was blank for several moments; then, "Oh, yeah, that really old bloke who always sounded like he was having trouble breathing. He only came to one or two of the meetings when we were at Sirius's place last summer. So what's Harry sending him money for, then?"

"It's not a real Galleon, Ron," Harry said, with a patience he didn't really feel. He wished Hermione had left Ron out of it — but at least it solved the problem of when to tell him. "It's got a Protean Charm on it, so I could send him a message using this coin." He took his coin out of his pocket, showing it to Ron.

"Wicked!" Ron said. "Just like the DA coins we had last year!" His expression turned confused again, however. "So why does he need to know when our DA meetings are, then?"

Harry took a deep breath. "It's not for that. I wanted to ask him some questions." He glanced at Hermione, then continued. "Some questions that have to do with — with Sirius." He reached into his pocket again, bringing out the wrinkled tag that had been on the walking stick he'd found in the Department of Mysteries. "The initials on here — ELD — are his. I want to know what he knows about that giant's wand —"

"But it's probably _not_ a giant's wand," Hermione objected. "They don't use wands."

"Right," Harry said. "That's why I want to talk to Doge about it."

"So what's this got to do with Sirius?" Ron asked. "I'm confused."

"It also doesn't explain why you were off somewhere for the past three weeks," Hermione added, giving Harry a penetrating look. "Or where this supposed 'giant's wand' is now, if you've still got it." She took the coin that had come in the envelope from Harry. "Since Mr. Doge didn't keep the coin, you're not going to be able to talk to him —" She stopped, staring at the coin closely for several seconds.

"Wait a moment," she said. "This isn't the coin you sent!" She pointed at a flat spot on its face. "I put a small dent right there on the one we sent, so I could identify it!"

"Whaddaya mean, 'we sent'?" Ron asked, still bewildered. "I thought Harry sent the coin!"

"Oh, never mind that now, Ron!" Hermione said impatiently. She waved the Galleon under Harry's nose. "This _isn't_ the coin we sent to Doge! That means he still has it!"

Harry pulled out his own coin, excited once again. "We can test that quick enough," he said. Harry nodded, tapping the coin once and saying, "Am I reaching you?" He tapped the coin again and the words AM I REACHING YOU appeared on the face of his coin.

"Whoa! That's brilliant!" Ron said, looking at the coin Harry held. He looked over at the coin in Hermione's hand. "But, the words aren't showing up on that coin!"

"Of course not, Ron!" Hermione said, exasperated at his thickness. "That's because this coin _isn't_ enchanted to receive that message! I wonder if Mr. Doge figured out what our coin was supposed to do —" She suddenly held up the coin so they could both see it. "Look!"

The words YES I READ YOU HARRY POTTER had appeared on its face. After a few moments they faded, replaced with the words DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO ASK ME.

Harry was staring at the words. "Well," Hermione said, impatiently. "Aren't you going to ask him what you want to know?"

Harry wished he could have done this in private. But, he couldn't have gotten _this_ far without Hermione's help, he had to admit. He picked up his coin, tapped it and said, "Yes, it's about your work for the Ministry," then tapped it again and watched the words appear. After a few moments the words I SEE GO ON appeared on the other coin.

_Tap_. "You received a large stick back in 1962." _Tap_.

_Tap_. "It was described as a giant's wand." _Tap_.

The words I THINK I REMEMBER IT appeared on the other coin, then were replaced by WHAT ABOUT IT.

_Tap_. "It originally belonged to someone." _Tap_.

_Tap_. "A man named Donald Blake." _Tap_.

"Who's Donald Blake?" Ron asked. Hermione shushed him.

Doge's coin did not change for some time. Then, HARRY PERHAPS WE SHOULD MEET. The words faded, replaced a moment later with CAN YOU BE AT THE LEAKY CAULDRON AT 3PM TODAY.

Harry tapped his coin. "I'll be there," he said, and tapped it again.

GOOD Doge's coin replied. SEE YOU THEN.

"The Leaky Cauldron? How're you going to manage _that_?" Ron wanted to know. "We're not supposed to leave the Burrow without Mum or Dad. And you can't fly a broom into London anyway!"

"Don't need a broom," Harry said, already having worked out a solution. "I can use the Knight Bus."

"You mean _we_ can use the Knight Bus," Hermione said, firmly. "We're going with you, Harry."

"But Doge isn't expecting you!" Harry objected. "He thinks only I'll be there! He might not want to talk if you're there, Hermione!"

"He knows both me and Ron already," Hermione pointed out, determined to get her way. "Have _you_ ever met him before, Harry?"

"That's not the point!" Harry said, angrily. "Neither of you are going — I've got to do this myself. I don't want either of you getting into trouble on my account."

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "We'll already be in trouble, because we know you're going. And if that's the case, I may just as well tell Mr. and Mrs. Weasley _right now_ what you plan to do!"

Ron's eyes widened in shock, and Harry stared at her in disbelief. "You wouldn't do that!" he said. "We're supposed to stick together!"

"I believe that's my _point_, Harry," Hermione said, as if explaining something simple to a small child. "That's why we should go with you — because we stick together."

Harry opened his mouth, but closed it again without speaking. She'd outmaneuvered him again. "Alright — _fine_. We'll all go, then." He folded his arms across his chest. "I suppose you've already thought of how we're going to handle this?"

"As a matter of fact, I have," Hermione said, smugly. "We'll say we're going to play some Quidditch around two-thirty this afternoon, then sneak down the hill to the lane that runs along their property. We can signal the Knight Bus from there — it'll be out of sight of the house."

"D'you still have that stick, Harry?" Ron asked. "Are you going to bring it with you?"

"Er —" Harry hesitated, not wanting to divulge where the stick actually was at that moment — in his back pocket, disguised as his wand.

"_More_ secrets?" Hermione said, archly. "You've really changed since that night at the Ministry, Harry!"

_More than you know_, Harry thought, but he said only, "I'm bringing this tag with me to show to Doge." He held up the now creased and wrinkled tag. "If he can help me find Donald Blake, I can return the stick to him." Hermione opened her mouth but Harry cut her off. "_Don't_ ask me where it is, Hermione! It's somewhere safe, for now."

"But what's this Donald Blake bloke got to do with you and Sirius?" Ron asked, again. "I mean — come _on_, Harry!" Ron looked at his friend with genuine concern. "You can't really believe there's a way to get Sirius _back_, can you? Once you're beyond the veil, you're —"

"Yeah, I heard," Harry grunted. "You're dead. Everyone keeps telling me that." He jammed the two Galleons in his pocket and stalked to the door. "Whyn't you go get some breakfast, Ron," he suggested, in an irritated tone, "before it gets too cold?"

Ron looked at Hermione, then shrugged and walked out of the room. Hermione followed him, pausing at the door next to Harry. "We'll see you at two-thirty, Harry," she said, then followed Ron downstairs. Harry pushed his door closed, then flopped onto his bed. Things were not working out at all like he'd wanted. Whatever Doge told him, Ron and Hermione would know as well. And if they _did_ find Donald Blake, after all this time, would he still be able to wield Mjolnir? Harry sighed, no longer enjoying the idea of finding Blake, or giving up the hammer.

=ooo=

Just before two-thirty, Harry appeared once again in the Burrow's kitchen, finding Ron and Hermione already there, seated at the table, each with a glass of pumpkin juice in front of them. They had all eaten lunch only two hours earlier, though the majority of conversation was between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, about his work — Ron, Hermione and Harry had all eaten in silence. Ginny, on the other hand, was cheerful and talkative, asking her father questions about his new job in the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. When lunch was over, Harry excused himself and trudged back upstairs to his room, to brood over his impending trip with Ron and Hermione, wishing there was a way to prevent them from going without upsetting them. Didn't they realize that he was trying to _protect_ them, not shut them out or keep secrets from them?

Mrs. Weasley smiled at Harry. "Fancy a glass of pumpkin juice, dear?" she asked, reaching for her wand.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry shook his head. "We were going out to practice Quidditch for a bit."

"That's fine," Mrs. Weasley said, taking the glasses from the table just as Ron drained the last bit of pumpkin juice from his. "We'll be eating about five-thirty, so mind you come in when I call."

Nodding assent, the three Hogwarts students exited the kitchen, heading for the broom shed. However, before they reached it, a red-headed figure stepped out from behind it. "Going to play Quidditch? Without inviting me?"

Harry's heart sank. It was Ginny! How were they going to get around her without letting on what they were up to?

But Ginny was already ahead of them. "Or maybe you had something else in mind?" she suggested, with a knowing look on her freckled face. "Like maybe a trip to the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Where'd you get a loony idea like that?" Ron challenged her. Ginny held up a length of flesh-colored string.

"The next time you don't want someone to hear you talking, you might remember to make your door _Impeturbable_."

"You were _eavesdropping_ on us?" Harry said, outraged, recognizing what Ginny held as an Extendable Ear, but Hermione was smiling.

"Oh, come on, Harry," Ginny said, unimpressed by his outburst. "_You_ never spied on anyone, did you?" Harry bit back a retort; for a bloke with the power of Thor in his back pocket, he wasn't winning many arguments lately!

"What d'you want, then?" Harry wanted to know.

"I want to go with you, of course!" Ginny said, as if that should have been obvious.

Both Ron and Harry shook their heads. "No way," Ron said, emphatically. "Mum would have my arse if we let you go, and something happened to you!"

Ginny shrugged indifferently. "She'll have it anyway, when I tell her you three ran off to London on the Knight Bus after you told her you were going to play Quidditch."

Harry threw up his hands. "Fine!" he said, not caring anymore as long as he got to speak to Doge. "The more the merrier, then!" He stalked by the broom shed, not even bothering to grab a broom, and the others fell into step behind him.

He still had enough presence of mind to walk around the garden, rather than through it, as there were still some vegetables growing in it (Ron had said his first job upon coming home from Hogwarts had been to de-gnome the garden; "Dad never makes a good job of it," Ron had said, "he's too soft-hearted"). But once they'd crossed the field past the garden, that nestled between it and the orchard, Harry turned left, walking down the hill a quarter-mile or so to the road that led to Ottery St. Catchpole. In the distance, again to his left, he could see the country lane that led from the road to the Burrow, which was itself out of sight behind the rise of the hill.

Once they had all assembled behind him, Harry nodded once. "Right, then," he said, and raised his wand. A few seconds later there was a loud BANG and a violently purple triple-decker bus suddenly appeared before them. The by-now familiar figure of Stan Shunpike hopped onto the bottom step of the doorway and announced, "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the —" he looked down at the four of them, eyeing Harry carefully. "Oi, it's you again, innit? 'Arry Potter?" he asked, softly.

"Yeah, it's me, Stan," Harry said, wearily. Stan grinned expressively.

"Well, come on in, then! 'Ey, Ern — lookit 'oo's come t' visit us again — 'Arry Potter!"

"Ar," Ernie said.

Stan was standing a little too close to him for Harry's comfort. "So where you 'eaded, 'Arry?" he asked, affably. "Y'know, if you wanted to 'ave a laugh, me an' Ernie'd take you onna tour of British cities. Give people around the country a chance to do a meet 'n' greet wit'choo. 'Ow's that sound, eh?"

It sounded really weird to Harry — nothing like what the Knight Bus was supposed to do. But — times were tough, and maybe they were trying to make some gold on the side. Harry shook his head. "Sorry, Stan — we're on a tight schedule. How much to get us to the Leaky Cauldron within —" Harry glanced at his watch "— the next ten minutes?"

Stan was giving him a disappointed look, but he seemed to shrug it off. Maybe next time, then, eh? The normal fare to the Leaky Cauldron is fifteen Sickles, but we can boost you ahead in the queue for say, an even Galleon apiece."

Harry dropped four Galleons in Stan's hand and took the four tickets he proffered in return. There were a few empty chairs near the front, and Harry and Ron sat in one pair, while Hermione and Ginny took another pair a few rows back. Ron was looking around with great interest at the various witches and wizards, many of whom were sipping tea or reading the _Prophet_.

Ron leaned over to nudge Harry. "D'you think we could get a cuppa on the way over —"

BANG.

Ron's chair toppled over, dumping him on his back. Harry just barely saved himself by grabbing a candle bracket. Looking back, he saw that nearly a third of the passengers were now on the floor, including both Hermione and Ginny.

Harry looked back at Ron and said, "Not really thirsty at the moment."

"That was a good one!" Stan laughed. "But we've got just one stop ahead of you, 'Arry, at Picadilly Square, then it's off to the Leaky Cauldron!"

"Great, thanks," Harry said distractedly, helping Ron up off the floor.

"Bloody hell!" Ron whispered furiously. "I forgot about that! Does that git think it's funny when someone gets dumped on their —"

BANG.

The bus jolted to a sudden stop, throwing Ron forward out of his seat and banging his head on the chair ahead of him. Once again Harry saved himself with the candle bracket. He was helping Ron up again when two grim-faced wizards strode by them, both in a seeming hurry. "We should be able to pick them up here," one was saying as they passed by. As they stepped off the bus, one of them glanced back, and Harry thought he glimpsed recognition as their eyes locked for a moment. Then the man was off the bus, and Stan was saying, "Next stop, the —" BANG "Leaky Cauldron."

Harry and Ron both surged to their feet and stumbled forward. Hermione and Ginny were coming up behind them, grabbing chairs as they passed, to steady themselves.

"Cheers," Stan said, leaning from the door as they stepped out onto Charing Cross Road. "Give us a wave sometime if you fancy that tour, 'Arrry!" One final BANG and the Knight Bus gone, as if it had never been there.

Ron was holding his head. "I've changed my mind," he said. "I'm _never_ getting on that thing again!"

"It's a long walk home, Ron," Harry reminded him. He checked his watch. "It's two minutes after three," he told the others. "If Doge is in there, let me talk to him first, and see if it's okay for all of us to talk. If he's not, I'll sit near the door and watch for him. You three sit at a table nearby, and don't make it obvious that you're waiting for someone."

Neither Hermione nor Ginny objected to this plan, to Harry's surprise, and the four of them entered the small, grimy pub. It was rather dim inside, and Harry's eyes took a few moments to adjust to the decreased lighting in the place. The Leaky Cauldron seemed to be much less popular than the first time Harry had visited it — when he was eleven, the place was bustling with customers. Now, he saw only a few handfuls of people scattered throughout the place, mostly regulars that he recognized, like Daedalus Diggle, who caught his eye and smiled, but didn't come over to shake his hand, to his relief.

Harry wandered over to the bar, at the same time looking around for Doge, until Tom the barman came over. "Good to see you again, Mr. Potter," Tom said, though his voice was low, to avoid drawing attention. "Something to drink today, for you and your friends?" The others had already taken a table between the bar and the door.

"Four butterbeers, please," Harry said, and dropped two Galleons on the bar, enough for payment plus a modest tip for Tom. He waved off the change when Tom brought the bottles, earning a toothless smile and a mumbled "Thank'ee, Mr. Potter," from the barman.

"One other thing, sir," Tom said, as Harry was about to turn away. "There's an older gentleman sitting near the back o' the pub who asked for you earlier. He seemed to expect you'd be 'ere."

"Thanks, Tom," Harry nodded and took the butterbeer bottles over to where Ron, Hermione and Ginny were sitting. He passed out the bottles, glancing toward the back of the pub as he did so, and caught a glimpse of silver-white hair in a booth along the far wall.

"Do you see him, Harry?" Hermione asked softly, noticing him staring toward the back. Harry nodded slowly. "Are you going to talk to him?" she asked, eagerly.

"Yeah," Harry said. "Let me go make sure he's okay with all of us meeting with him." He strolled casually toward the other end of the pub, sipping his butterbeer as he went. His eyes scanned the booths on either side of the one Doge was in, making sure they were both empty. There was an edge on the booth's seats that kept Doge's face hidden until Harry was standing right in front of it. "Mr. Doge?" he said, softly.

"Ah, Harry," the old man smiled up at him. His voice, like Ron had said, was wheezy. "I'm glad you're here. I was beginning to wonder if you'd been delayed, or that something had happened."

"Just delayed, sir," Harry said. "We had to take the Knight Bus to get here."

"Mmm," Doge nodded, looking troubled. "That young conductor has become quite the businessman lately, I've noticed. Did he offer to move you up in the queue for a 'modest fee'?"

Harry nodded. "And, he wanted me to go on a 'tour of Britain' with him, to attract more customers for the Bus. I didn't know what to think of that."

Doge spoke quietly, though his tone was heavy, even with his wheezy voice. "I should have warned you not to use the Knight Bus, Harry — I just didn't think you'd use it to come here. We suspect that Stan has been Imperiused by You-Know-Who's followers, hoping that you would take the Bus some time this summer or fall, and that they could lure you into a trap." He gestured toward the seat opposite him. "We should make this brief then, Harry — someone may show up looking for you."

Harry jerked a thumb behind him. "I — uh, I brought some friends along, they're, um, helping me. Can they join us?"

"By all means, yes," Doge said, "But quickly, quickly!" Harry turned and waved to the other three, and they hurried over to the booth. Doge slid over, letting Harry sit next to him, and Hermione, Ginny and Ron slid into the seat on the opposite side.

Doge nodded soberly to each of them. "It's good to see you three again — it's been a while since those meetings over at Sirius Black's home." He glanced quickly at Harry. "Oh — sorry, Harry. It's a shame he's gone—I was always proud of that young man, for being able to break free of the traditions of his family." Harry nodded curtly, not wanting to think about Sirius right now, just to find out what he could about Donald Blake, as he'd promised Odin.

"I'll be brief," Doge continued, now speaking to all of them, "since as I've told Harry, the conductor of the Knight Bus may be Imperiused and informing Death Eaters of our location at this very moment." He turned to Harry as Ron, Hermione and Ginny glanced at one another in concern; Harry pulled the tag from his pocket, the one that had been tied to the stick.

"This was on the stick I mentioned," Harry said, handing it to him. Doge stared at it for several seconds, then nodded as if recalling relevant information.

"I remember it, now," he said as he examined the tag. "There was a 'debate' of sorts at the Ministry about that artifact, after it was brought in. Some of the 'deep thinkers' in the Department of Mysteries decided it must be a wand of some type, as it was shaped like one and radiated a faint magical aura like one, though it was obviously too large to be a wizard's wand. So, those 'in the know' labeled it a 'giant's wand,' against my advice."

"Why didn't they just bring it to Mr. Ollivander?" Hermione asked. "Couldn't he have told them straightaway it wasn't a wand?"

"Yes," Doge agreed, looking unhappy. "I suggested that, in fact, but some at the Ministry were not happy with Ollivander at that time — he was suspected of engaging in Dark activities to obtain some of the magical core materials used in his wand. They did not believe he would give them the complete story about the artifact's origin."

"Dark activities?" Ginny looked scornful. "Mr. Ollivander seemed a bit — odd — to me, but he's certainly not Dark!"

"I don't think so, either, my dear," Doge told her, gently. "No charges were ever brought against him, for lack of evidence, as I pointed out to them repeatedly. But nobody higher up at the Ministry much cared what I thought."

"What do you know about Donald Blake?" Harry asked.

"Very little, unfortunately," Doge answered. "The three wizards who returned from Norway also brought with them an unconscious man, leaving him at St. Mungo's for recuperation. As he was a Muggle, he would have been Obliviated and returned to wherever he came from."

"Did you ever meet him, sir?" Hermione interjected.

"No, my dear, I did not," Doge shook his head. "I did talk to the wizard who was leading the research team over in Norway — he told me they had dropped off the man, along with his identification, at the hospital before returning to the Ministry, and I thought nothing more of it, regrettably at this moment."

"So… we're kind of at a dead end, then," Ron said, disappointed.

"Perhaps not," Doge suggested, in his wheezy voice. "St. Mungo's might have kept records of the man's admittance. At that time, however, they did a rather poor job of tracking Muggles who came through, for whatever reason."

In the adjacent booth, invisible, a golden-haired man sat smiling as he listened to the conversation between the Potter boy and the old man who had labeled Mjolnir a "giant's wand!" Earlier, he had listened as the so-called "Dark Lord" charged the pale young man, Draco, with finding out Harry Potter's secret, and Draco had taken to his assignment with relish.

When the report came in, only minutes earlier, that Harry Potter had been on the Knight Bus and was now at the Leaky Cauldron, Draco and his aunt, Bellatrix, had dispatched a group of men who, while not a part of the "Death Eaters" that followed this Voldemort slavishly, were still determined to drag Potter back to Malfoy Manor. It was going to be quite an entertaining encounter, Loki decided, which was why he'd returned to this shabby, reeking public house, to see what would happen.

Harry was thinking quickly. Did they have time to go over to St. Mungo's and check their records, to see if they might contain a clue to Blake's current location? It would be worthwhile if he could keep everybody focused on that goal. "Maybe we should go check out it," he said to the others. Ron and Hermione both nodded, and Ginny grinned at him. Harry turned back to Doge. "Thank you, sir, for this information."

"My pleasure, my boy, my very great pleasure," Doge wheezed, smiling at all of them. "I'm gratified you've all have taken up the mantle of opposing You-Know-Who, just as Albus and I did the first time he appeared…though I'm afraid he and I do not have much time left before we turn over the reins of command to you."

"Uh, yeah," Harry said, not sure how else to respond to that. "Well, sir, we'll be going, we'll head over to St. Mungo's and see what anyone there can tell us about Donald Blake."

"Good luck, Harry," Doge said, giving him a pat of confidence on the shoulder.

Harry and the others slid out of the booth, but had taken only a few steps toward the exit when the door suddenly flew open and five men, dressed in black robe and Death Eater masks, burst into the room.

"_Where is Harry Potter_?" the man in the lead, the largest one in the group, shouted. "Hand him over _now_ or everyone here DIES!"


	7. Round One

**Harry Thunderer and the Uru Hammer**

**Chapter Seven  
**"**Round One"**

_Updated 16 July 2010_

At the Death Eater's shouted ultimatum, the Leaky Cauldron's quiet atmosphere immediately erupted into chaos. There were screams and several loud _cracks_ as a number of people Disapparated out of the pub, until one of the intruders waved his wand and shouted an incantation, placing the building under an anti-Disapparition Jinx.

Harry, who had drawn his wand when the door first opened, glanced around quickly to see where his friends were. Ron was almost beside him, to his right, and Hermione and Ginny were just behind him. All of them had drawn their wands as well. Surprisingly, Elphias Doge had appeared on his left, his wand also in his hand.

The large man in the lead caught sight of them as Harry faced forward again. "There he is!" he shouted to the others. "Give yourself up, Potter, or everyone dies — like this!" He turned toward the person nearest to him, who happened to be Doris Crockford, pointed his wand at her and yelled, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

The green bolt shot toward Doris, who sat in frozen horror, a glass of beer in her hand, when a chair suddenly leaped into the air, blocking the spell as it shattered into a dozen pieces. Glancing left, Harry saw that Doge had caused the chair to move. In the same motion, quite agile for a man his age, Doge brought his wand to bear on the Death Eater who had just cast the curse and shouted "_Depulso_!" The Banishing Charm threw the man backwards into two of his comrades, bowling them over.

The last two intruders were hurling curses toward Harry and the others, but Harry and Ron both shouted "_Protego_!" erecting Shield charms in front of them, and the curses rebounded harmlessly.

Doge fired Stunners at the two, but they cast Sheilds of their own, deflecting his spells. "Get your friends out of here!" Doge said quickly to Harry, nodding toward the back door that led to the courtyard and access to Diagon Alley. "We'll hold off these villains!"

Harry had been on the verge of striking his wand against the floor, to transform into Thor; instead, he nodded at Doge and said to Ron, "Let's get to Diagon Alley!" He made a sweeping gesture with his wand: several tables and chairs between them and the back door flew into the air toward the first group of intruders, who were just getting back on their feet. Shouting warnings to one another, the men cast spells that deflected the furniture flying toward them.

Several people who hadn't disappeared at the first sight of the Death Eater-clad attackers were beginning to fight back as well, and the group found themselves in a crossfire from several groups of the pub's patrons. The intruders' spells suddenly turned quite nasty, and as Harry and the others ran for the exit Harry saw a table explode, sending splinters of wood into two wizards who were using it for protection. He winced, but immediately sent a Disarming Charm at the man who'd blown up the table. The wand flew from the intruder's hand; enraged, he spun, pointing at Harry and the others, who were now piling through the door into the courtyard. "Potter's getting away!" he shouted, in a shrill voice that sounded more like a woman than a man.

"After him!" the large intruder shouted, gesturing to the others, and three of them tore after Harry and his group, dodging spells from Doge and Daedalus Diggle, who had joined with the other defenders.

The last one through the door, Harry slammed it shut and pointed his wand, shouting "_Colloportus_!" He then stepped back, toward the center of the courtyard, and said, "_Protego_!" causing a Shield Charm to expand between them and the door. He looked behind him, to Ginny and Hermione. "Get the archway open!" He said quickly, then looked at Ron, who'd stepped up beside him, looking at the Shield Charm he'd evoked. "Get ready to throw some Banishing Charms," he told Ron. They could hear muffled talking on the other side of the door.

"What for?" Ron asked, "They've got to get the door unlocked first."

"No, they don't," Harry shook his head, and at the same moment the door exploded and blew inwards as someone on the opposite side shouted "_Reducto_!" Jagged pieces of wood embedded themselves into Harry's shield.

"Now!" Harry said, dropping the shield, and he and Ron (and Ginny as well, from between them) all cast Banishing Charms on the pieces of falling door. There were shouts of surprise and pain from the other side of the doorway as Harry quickly glanced behind him, seeing that Hermione had tapped the correct brick three times and the archway was forming.

"Let's go!" Harry said, spreading his arms to encompass Ron and Ginny and pushed them through the entrance. Hermione slipped through ahead of all of them, and they ran a dozen yards along the cobbled street before Harry stopped, in front of the cauldron shop, looking behind him toward the archway again.

"Ron!" he ordered, pointing toward the entrance. "Set up a Shield in front of the arch!" Ron looked puzzled but complied, and Harry waved his wand at it, changing the shield's color from transparent to black. "Hold that as long as you can," he told Ron, then turned to Ginny and Hermione. He pointed to the stacks of cauldrons in front of the shop. "We're going to levitate as many of these cauldrons as we can over the street," he told them, and Ginny grinned and nodded, immediately beginning to send cauldrons into the air.

"What are we doing, Harry?" Hermione wanted to know. She hadn't quite caught on, but as several cauldron rose up and floated in the street over Ron's shield, her eyes widened in understanding. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "We're going to drop these on those Death Eaters when they get through Ron's shield!"

"Right," Harry said quickly. "While they're dodging them, we can hit them with Stunners and Disarming Charms." He and Hermione quickly added to Ginny's collection of floating cauldrons, until there were over a dozen pots of various sizes hovering ten feet or so above the ground. There was a sound of crackling from behind Ron's shield, and he grimaced.

"Not much longer," Ron gritted, holding his wand with both hands. "I can feel them trying to break the shield…"

"Let it go, then," Harry told him. "We're ready!"

With a loud _crack_, the black shield vanished, and the archway was visible again, though there was no one standing in it. A moment later, however, an arm snaked around the opening's edge, holding a wand, and shouted a phrase. There was a blinding flash of light, dazzling Harry and the others, and as they instinctively turned their heads or covered their eyes, a voice beyond the arch shouted, "Now! Get them!"

"Now!" Harry shouted, and for a moment it rained cauldrons as two intruders dashed toward the foursome. The attackers suddenly found themselves being attacked as pots rained down on them, and one of them was knocked flat by a heavy stone cauldron that landed on his shoulder.

"_Expelliarmus_!" Harry shouted, furiously blinking back tears as he tried to recover his vision. Hermione and Ron were both shooting Stunners blindly. Harry heard Ginny cast a Bat-Bogey Hex; he had no idea whether it connected or not. They needed to regroup. "Let's go!" he shouted, and they all ran further into Diagon Alley. A couple of curses came searing after them, but the group disappeared around the curve of the street before they got close.

Harry looked about quickly as they ran. Many of the shops were closed, even now; there weren't going to be many places they could stop and make a stand. Suddenly, a large white marble building came into view ahead of them, and Harry knew where they had to go. "Into Gringotts!" he shouted, and they dashed up the steps to the bronze doors. The goblin standing there gave them a curious look, but opened the door, bowing them in.

"Thank you," Hermione said hurriedly as she and Ginny dashed by and through the silver doors being held open by Harry and Ron. The two goblins standing inside next to the silver doors also looked at them quizzically.

Seeing the goblin holding the bronze door open looking at him with puzzled concern on his sharp, clever features, Harry said quickly, "If any wizards come looking for us, you might say we went into Knockturn Alley."

"But that would not be true," the goblin objected, frowning.

"But it'll save you and the bank loads of trouble," Harry offered, then disappeared inside the bank. He and the others ran some distance from the entrance before they stopped to catch their breath.

"Why come in _here_, Harry?" Hermione wanted to know.

"Maybe he needs to pick up a few Galleons," Ron grinned. Ginny punched him on the arm. "Ow!" he said, looking at her with surprise and annoyance. "It was just a joke!"

"A stupid one, if you ask me," Ginny muttered, then looked at Harry curiously. "So why _did_ we come in here, Harry? And how'd those gits figure out we were at the Leaky Cauldron in the first place?"

"Doge told me that Stan Shunpike was probably Imperiused by Death Eaters trying to capture me," Harry answered. "Two men got off the Bus ahead of us, at Piccadilly Square, but I don't think they were Death Eaters."

"I didn't see any blokes get off," Ron objected, and Harry gave him a look.

"It's because you were busy wiping the floor with your face, Ron," he said, plaintively. "I was helping you get up, remember?"

"I saw them," Ginny spoke up. "They came down from an upper level. I think they were on the top deck when we stopped." Hermione nodded in agreement. "But who _cares_ about them, anyway? Harry, what are we going to do to get out of _this_ mess?"

They all turned to him, but even as Harry opened his mouth to reassure them the silver doors of the entrance burst open, sending the two goblins standing there flying. Three figures in Death Eater robes strode into Gringotts, their wands in front of them in attack position. Seeing the four of them across the hall, the figure in the lead shouted, "Surrender, Potter — or we'll bring this building down on top of you and everyone else in it!"

Harry and the others had all adopted defensive postures. "I doubt you can really do that, whoever you are," Harry called back. "Anyway, we don't want any trouble from you! We're just here to do business at the bank!"

Even as the Death Eater laughed nastily, Ron gave Harry a puzzled look. "Don't want any trouble?" he repeated softly. "We need to flatten these slimy gits!"

Harry shook his head, then spoke just as softly. "No — I'm hoping the goblins will take our side in this, if they think these guys are the aggressors."

"Well, they bloody _are_ the aggressors!" Ron whispered back, as the Death Eater responded.

"Potter, you and your friends are coming with us — we're taking you to Malfoy Manor, where you can —"

"All right, all right, hold it," another voice interrupted, irritably. "What in the name of Ragnuk is this all about?" A goblin was walking out onto the floor between Harry's group and the intruders, looking definitely more annoyed with the latter group. "What are you doing destroying our property? What's your business here?"

"It's none of your concern, goblin," the first Death Eater-masked wizard snarled. "Out of the way! We are here to take them —" he gestured carelessly toward Harry and the others with his wand "— to our lord. You only bring trouble on yourself by interfering!"

The goblin did not appear impressed by this show of bravado. "Your master does not frighten us," he said evenly. "As for them," he looked back at Harry and the others. "They have stated that they are here to transact business with the bank — if you wish to detain them, you may wait out on the street for them. In here, however, they are under our protection."

"Stupid little beast!" the wizard behind the mask growled. "_Stupefy_!" The red bolt hit the goblin in the chest and he fell over, stunned. The wizard then pointed toward Harry. "Take him! Kill the others if they resist!" The other two masked wizards started toward them, and Harry leaned forward, ready to strike his wand upon the floor.

Before he did, however, a disembodied goblin's voice echoed through the hall around them. "That was not a smart thing to do, wizard. Security!"

There was the sound of grunting from the shadows of the hall, and the three wizards turned, gasping as a half-dozen forest trolls suddenly emerged all around them, each of them looking quite annoyed. Harry and the others took several steps back, but the trolls seemed to ignore them. Harry recognized them as the same type that had guarded the Fat Lady during his third year, after his godfather Sirius had broken into Gryffindor Tower. They weren't as big (or as smelly) as the mountain troll Harry and Ron had saved Hermione from during first year, but every one of them looked as big as Hagrid. As the three masked wizards retrained their wands on this new threat, the goblin's voice spoke again.

"Take them captive. Do not kill, but if they resist, you may subdue them by any means necessary." The biggest troll looked around at his men, then up into the air.

"Granagh?" he grunted in a hopeful tone, to the disembodied voice.

"No," the goblin's voice said, wearily. "You may _not_ eat them, just take them captive and bring them to the Chief of Security's office."

One of their wizard attackers, hearing this, screamed and bolted for the exit, only to be slammed in the side by one of the trolls' clubs. He hit the ground, sliding a dozen feet on the smooth stone floor, and was still. The other two masked wizards froze, then raised their arms in the air. One of the trolls confiscated their wands, another picked up the unconscious wizard, and the troll squad marched off down the hallway, the two wizards in their custody being prodded along by clubs.

Harry finally relaxed, lowering his wand, as did Ron and Ginny. Hermione was still looking around nervously. She jumped, startled, when a new voice said, "Now, may I help you, sir?"

Another goblin had appeared from behind the long counter they were standing in front of. "What?" Harry said, not quite understanding what the goblin had asked him.

"May I help you?" the goblin asked again, in a falsely patient tone. "You _did_ say you had business to transact, is that correct, sir?"

"Er —" Harry had said that, but only to get the goblins on his side. But, he didn't want to irritate the goblins (who had, after all, just saved him from having to transform to Thor and reveal who he was to everyone there) any more than necessary, so he said, "— er, yeah, I did. I want to visit my vault."

"Do you have your key, sir?"

"Uh —" Of course there was a flaw in his plan, Harry realized. The key to his vault would be at home, in his —

"I have it right here," Hermione said suddenly, holding out Harry's key.

"What?" Ginny said, looking at her in shock.

"What the —!" Ron yelped, staring at the key in Hermione's hand.

"_What_?" Harry cried, outraged by the implication. "You got into my _trunk_? What were you thinking, Hermione?"

Hermione looked upset, but she was trying to explain. "Mrs. Weasley asked me to! She said Bill suggested I get your key, so he could use it and his position as a Cursebreaker at Gringotts to get you some gold — Mrs. Weasley said it's a five-hour wait for most people! Harry, I'm sorry!"

Harry shook his head, trying to wrap it around the idea of what Hermione was saying. He took the key from her. What was bothering him wasn't so much that she'd gotten into his trunk, but that she might have seen his old wand hidden at the bottom of it. He looked at the goblin. "Will it really take five hours for me to get my money out?" he asked.

"I'm afraid it will take some time to process your request, sir," the goblin replied, sounding unapologetic. "We have instituted new security measures for the safety of our customers and the belongings stored in their vaults."

Harry shook his head. They didn't have that kind of time, and he wanted to get back to the Leaky Cauldron, to see what had happened with the remaining two intruders. He hoped they had been taken care of, since they hadn't followed the others. "Thanks," he told the goblin. "But I'll need to come back when I have more time."

"As you wish, sir," the goblin told him. He nodded and turned to leave, but turned back. "Also, the next time you visit the bank, please be sure no one plans to start a fight with you."

Harry suppressed a grin. "I hope I can do that."

They left the bank, walking back towards the exit to the Leaky Cauldron. In front of the cauldron shop, the owner, a short, stocky wizard with a long, gray beard, was restacking cauldrons. He stopped as the group walked by, giving them a querulous look, as if he hoped they could explain what had happened earlier. Harry nodded at the old wizard but didn't stop or explain himself, hoping he wouldn't recognize them as the group who'd disrupted his wares in the first place.

Back in the Leaky Cauldron, it was once again quiet as the injured were being tended to by other patrons, or else plans were being made to take those who were more badly injured to St. Mungo's. Four or five witches and wizards had suffered damage at the hands of the intruders, who were themselves tied up and unconscious. Their masks had been removed; their faces were unfamiliar to Harry, but Hermione leaned over and whispered in his ear, "I think I recognize those two — they were a few years ahead of us at school, in Slytherin House."

Harry nodded. It made sense, he supposed, that Slytherin ex-students were trying to get into Voldemort's Death Eaters. If they were like Draco Malfoy, they expected Voldemort's return would mean the end the Ministry's tenuous restraints on blood purity laws, and a new reign of terror as Death Eaters ran roughshod over Wizarding Britain. It was something Harry did not plan to let happen.

"Oh, no!" Ginny suddenly cried, pointing to a figure lying prone on the floor. "They killed him!" It was, Harry saw with a sinking feeling in his chest, Elphias Doge. Kneeling over him was Daedalus Diggle, his expression filled with pain as he examined the still form. He looked up, seeing Harry and the others.

"I just — found him," he said, his voice heavy with grief. "He was holding his own against those two —" Diggle's head jerked toward the two young men in Death Eater robes. "I don't understand how they could have killed him."

Harry was looking at them as well. "Maybe they didn't," he said, slowly. He recalled something one of the others had said, in Gringotts, just before the goblins captured them: "We're taking you to Malfoy Manor…" Remembering what Neville had said about Malfoy and his goons, Crabbe and Goyle, Harry wondered if Neville had divulged more than he though? The thought that Draco Malfoy might somehow know his secret, whether Neville had told him under torture or not, gave Harry chills. It also filled him with a burning fury.

Ron had knelt next to Harry, beside Doge's body. He looked up, seeing the expression on his friend's face. "Harry, what is it? You looked pissed off —"

There was a sudden flash of light, and everyone shielded their eyes. But even as the light died away, everyone in the room slipped to the floor, unconscious—except for a tall, black-haired man in dark leather and a red cloak, who stood and walked over to where the two young men in Death Eater robes had slumped over. "Let the doors be locked," he said softly, and the locks on both the front door and the door leading to the courtyard clicked loudly. "Let no one Apparate or Portkey in or out," he added, making sure he wouldn't be interrupted.

Reaching down, he grasped one of the young men by his collar, lifting the unconscious fellow effortlessly to shoulder height. "_Rennervate_," he said, and the young man jerked awake, gasping as he found himself in the grip of a towering stranger who glared angrily at him.

"Who — who are you?" he stammered. "What — how d-did you —?"

"I'll ask the questions," Harry snarled at him. "Who sent you to capture Harry Potter? What do you want from him?"

"That's none of your business, is it?" the young man sneered at him, emboldened now that he sensed he might have information that would make him more valuable alive. "But it's no secret, the Dark Lord wants words with Potter."

"It's no secret Voldemort wants Potter dead," Harry said, allowing a grim smile to cross his lips as the young man flinched at the name. "What's he want to talk to Potter about?"

"Go ask him yourself," the young man sneered, beginning to twist in Harry's grasp. "Now get off me, if you want me to answer any more questions!"

"Oh, you want me to let you go, eh?" Harry asked, then flung the man across the pub, where he slammed into a pile of broken tables and chairs. Harry heard several satisfying cracks as bones broke and the man screamed in agony. He strode over, picking the man up, who continued screaming in pain. "Quiet!" Harry commanded, "or you get more of the same!"

"You bloody maniac!" the man shouted at him, blinking as blood poured into his eyes from a head gash. "You damn near killed me!"

"Like you killed Elphias Doge, Death Eater!" Harry shouted back at him, his face mere inches from the man. "He's lying there _dead_ because you're following the orders of a madman!"

The man shook his head painfully. "It weren't me! The old geezer's the one who put me out — hit me with a Stunner! Me an' Derrick —" he nodded painfully toward his unconscious companion "— were about to chip when the old man got me. When I woke up I was looking at you. Besides," the man added, pushing up the sleeve covering his left arm; it revealed a bare forearm. "We're not even really Death Eaters — we were just given these masks an' robes to use."

"Who gave them to you?" Harry demanded.

"That's our business, isn't it?" the man coughed. He blinked and shook his head, splattering Harry with drops of his blood. "You'd better get me to the hospital or I'm a goner —" The man gasped as Harry pushed the uru head of Mjolnir against his throat. A white light began to glow around the young man, and his broken bones and gashes immediately healed. "What the hell —?" he blurted, in shocked surprise, just as Harry tossed him onto the floor next to his fellow stooge.

"Sleep," Harry said, pointing Mjolnir at him, and the man slumped over once again. Harry thought for a moment, trying to puzzle out what might have really happened. Could someone else have been here as well — someone they hadn't seen? Harry remembered there was a way to find out, using the enchantments laid upon Mjolnir. He walked over to where Doge's body lay, with Daedalus Diggle, Ron, Ginny and Hermione passed out around it, and drew a large circle in the air in front of him with Mjolnir, invoking the power of the hammer to show what had occurred in the recent past. He watched as images formed in the air before him.

As the ersatz Death Eater had said, he and his accomplice were moving toward the courtyard door, preparing to escape, when Doge stunned one of them, the one Harry had questioned. The other one, called Derrick (a name that was vaguely familiar to Harry as a former Hogwarts student, as Hermione had suggested), had panicked and began shooting curses wildly around the interior of the pub, forcing everyone to take cover or erect shields to block the spells. Diggle had stepped forward, dueling the young man for several seconds before finally Stunning and binding him.

But even as Derrick was being subdued, Harry saw in the images what occurred behind Diggle. As Doge watched the duel between his fellow Order member and the intruder, a figure shimmered into view behind him, a pale, blond teenaged face that Harry recognized all too well. As Doge realized someone was behind him and turned, the blond young man pointed his wand and spoke. A jet of green light shot from it, hitting Doge in the chest, and he dropped to the ground. Grinning, the blond teenager waved his wand about himself, disappearing with a fading shimmer. Harry, his face now taut with rage, slashed Mjolnir across the image, dissipating it.

The face of the blond teenager belonged to Draco Malfoy.

Draco had killed Elphias Doge, and had used the Killing Curse to do so! Harry had seen the images with his own eyes, yet he could hardly believe it was true. Malfoy had always talked about joining Voldemort — now it seemed as if he had done so, both body and soul. Well, Harry would even that score with Draco the first opportunity he got. For now, however, he would transform back into Harry, pretend to have passed out with the others, then head over to St. Mungo's to see what he could about Donald Blake's stay there, so long ago.

Harry got down on one knee, in the spot where he'd knelt earlier, examining Doge's body. He looked at the unconscious forms around the body — Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, lying alongside Daedalus Diggle, glad for once that they had been where he could protect them, even though the power of Thor had not been needed. He raised Mjolnir by its handle, bringing it down to strike it upon the floor and change back to Harry Potter.

But before the handle hit the floor, Harry stopped, thinking. If he really wanted to keep his friends safe, then where they were _right now_ was the safest place he could imagine. Harry stood and moved to the center of the pub, holding the hammer of Thor before him. He would make _sure_ no one could enter the Leaky Cauldron, not until he returned. "Mjolnir," he said, in a commanding tone. "Make this building impenetrable to any witch or wizard, by any magic save your own, until I return." Light flared around the hammer, and rays of eldritch energies shot into all corners of the pub. Within moments Harry could see the walls, floor and ceiling faintly glowing with Mjolnir's magic. Nodding, he held the hammer to his chest. "Take me to St. Mungo's, he said," and vanished from the room.

=ooo=

Harry reappeared in the reception area of St. Mungo's, near the back of the room, behind several rows of rickety wooden chairs. Several witches and wizards, in various states of disrepair, were seated in the chairs; some were glancing through old issues of _Witch Weekly_ magazine, the only reading material that seemed to be present in the reception room. There were a few staff members, whom Harry recognized by their lime-green robes, talking to people and jotting down notes on clipboards. It reminded Harry of the previous school year, when Dolores Umbridge and her ever-present clipboard had haunted the halls and classrooms of Hogwarts, making notes and plotting the end of Professor Dumbledore's tenure at the school.

But that was all behind him now — Harry had a mission to attend to here. He walked to the front of the room, where the Welcome Witch, the same blonde woman Harry had seen there when he visited last Christmas, eyed him warily. "And what's _your_ problem today?" she asked Harry, sounding impatient.

"I'm looking for someone who was admitted to the hospital —" Harry began; the witch picked up a clipboard on the desk next to her left arm and began flipping through the pages.

"The patient's name?" she asked, her manner brisk.

"Uh, Donald Blake," Harry said, leaning forward to look at the names on the list. The witch tilted the clipboard back, keeping him from seeing anything, her eyes still rapidly scanning the pages.

"There's no Donald Blake in the hospital right now," she said finally, looking at Harry with a simultaneously bored and irritated expression. "Do you know when he was admitted?"

"Er — back in 1962, I suppose," Harry shrugged. The witch looked at him sharply, an expression of stunned incredulity crossing her face, and he hastily added. "I mean — I'm trying to find out what happened to him — er, he hasn't been seen since he was here back then." When she appeared unimpressed by this story, he decided to elaborate a bit. "His father has been searching for him all this time, but the only thing we know is that he was brought to London, unconscious, and that he was — a Muggle."

The witch appeared to soften a little at this, and she pondered for a moment. "He would have been treated and released," she finally said, as if thinking aloud. "Muggles who required magical treatment at that time would have been sent to one of the Muggle hospitals operating in the London area, after Obliviation if necessary. You would have to check with them for any treatment he received there."

"Would there be any record of him being here?" Harry asked, grasping at the only straw he could think of.

"After all this time?" the blonde gave him a skeptical look. "Not likely, my lad. But you can talk to the records section, they'll probably enjoy a visit from someone — anyone, really — with questions for them."

The records section was on the ground floor, at the far end of the corridor that passed through the double doors leading out of the reception area. Harry strode down the hallways, ignoring looks both from patients and other hospital staff members, until he came to a door that read Archives/Records/Lost Property Department, and below it, _Head Archivist, Henry Chamberlain_. He started to knock, but decided he was going in anyway, and simply opened the door and stepped into the room.

Harry found himself in a smallish office that was filled with a single desk, one chair, and what must have been over a hundred boxes of folders, along with stacks of parchment documents piled upon the boxes, all perched so precariously that it looked as if the entire room was about to collapse into an utter mess.

Seated at the desk, writing industriously upon a piece of parchment, in tiny, uniform script was a wizard, looking rather young for the position of Head Archivist, Harry thought. The wizard held up a finger, still writing. "Let me finish my thought," he said, distractedly, "I'll be right with you — hello!" he looked up at Harry, surprised to find such a tall, imposing person in his department. "Are you lost?" he asked.

"No," Harry said. "I'm looking for the records section. Is this it?"

The young wizard spread his arms. "Yeah, this is it," he grinned wryly. "Such as it is." His expression took on a sudden interest as he looked at Harry. "Say, are you my new assistant? I asked for one about two years ago — it'd be just about right if you were to show up now."

"No," Harry said again. He looked around the cluttered office. "I'm looking for information on someone who was here in St. Mungo's some time ago."

The wizard appeared disappointed Harry wasn't his new helper, but still said cheerfully, "You've come to the right spot, then — if there's anything we've got down here, it's information. I've got records going back all the way to the time of Mungo Bonham himself — mind you," he added, fluttering a hand in front of himself, "they werre a bit spotty back then. But I doubt if you'll need anything from _that_ far back, will you?" The wizard rubbed his hands together expectantly, then suddenly thrust his right hand forward. "I'm Henry Chamberlain, by the way — head archivist for St. Mungo's. And you are…?"

Harry shook the man's hand absently. "Er, you can call me — Thor."

"Thor, eh?" Henry smiled up at him. "Well, your mum sure named you right, didn't she?" He took out his wand. "So, who's the person you're wanting to find? Does he have a name?"

"The person's name is Donald Blake," Harry told him. "He was brought here in 1962 by three wizards who were on some kind of mission in Norway. The only thing I know is that he was probably unconscious when he was brought here, and that he was a Muggle." _Or he would have seemed to be_, Harry added to himself.

Henry was pondering the information Harry had given him. "Donald Blake, eh?" he repeated the name several times. "It doesn't ring a bell," he mused, then looked at Harry. "I remember everything I read," he told him, beaming. "Left Hogwarts several years ago with eleven N.E.W.T.s — not that I'm bragging, mind you, but I could have done twelve, if they'd held advanced classes in Muggle Studies."

To Harry, that _did_ seem like bragging, but he'd never met anyone who'd gotten eleven N.E.W.T.s before — even Bill Weasley had earned only five. But he hadn't come here to discuss academics. "What I need, Henry, is to know if you have anything in your records about Donald Blake, even if it doesn't mention him by name."

The St. Mungo's head archivist looked at Harry dubiously. "That's a pretty tall order, even for me," he said, scratching his chin pensively. "Without knowing anything about this Donald Blake, I don't see how I could figure out what, if anything in my archives or property section he might have possessed."

Harry frowned. It seemed like he was _so close_! He hated that his chance to help Sirius, by finding Blake, was slipping away from him. If only he knew of something that Blake had touched — like an article or clothing or a hat, or…

Harry looked down at his belt, where he'd hung Mjolnir earlier, as he walked through the hospital looking for this department. The hammer! If this really was the hammer of Thor, and Donald Blake _was_ Thor, then he _must_ have touched it during the time when he wielded it! If that was true, then he could use Mjolnir itself to find out whether Blake had ever touched anything in the archives or property section. Harry took the hammer off his belt.

"Whoa, hold on," Henry said, stepping back. He'd interpreted Harry's action as anger. "I didn't say I wouldn't at least _try_, friend —"

"Don't worry about it," Harry reassured him. "I just thought of a way to tell if Blake's touched anything in this room —"

Henry's laugh surprised him. "You're joking, right?" the wizard said. He got to his feet and walked across the office, opening door at its opposite end. "_This_ is my archive room!" He led Harry through the door —

— into a huge warehouse area that looked like a combination library and thrift shop. There were row upon row of shelves filled with books of all types, cases of parchment rolls and boxes marked with numbers and runes, as well as shelves and shelves of boxes containing objects and property from patients left undisturbed for perhaps hundreds of years. "This is everything that St. Mungo's has collected in the past four hundred years," he said, looking around the room with a broad grin spreading across his young features. "In fact, we're making preparations to celebrate the 400th anniversary of its founding in 1998; it's widely believed that Mungo Bonham officially dedicated the original building to the wizarding community in 1598 on St. Mungo's feast day, January 13th."

Harry was looking about the room, marveling at its size. Even so, with all the records and items stored here, his idea should work. He stepped past Henry, placing himself between the archivist and the rows of shelving that seemed to fade into the darkness, so large was the room, and took Mjolnir in both hands, pointing it toward the ceiling. _Mjolnir_, he thought, _if Donald Blake has handled anything in this room, find it for me_. _You know his touch_. He moved the hammer slowly back and forth, aiming it at shelf after shelf and silently repeating his request several times.

"What is it you're doing?" Henry asked him, curiously. "It almost looks like you're…dowsing." Harry ignored him.

Nothing happened for a long time, and Harry was about to lower the hammer when a small flash of light from the far end of one of the rows, barely visible, caught his attention. _Bring it to me_, Harry thought, and moments later a battered box came floating toward them from the darkness. It landed at Harry's feet.

"Wow," Henry said, looking at the box, then at Harry. "Whoever said 'If the only tool you have is a hammer, all your problems tend to look like nails' certainly never had a hammer like _that_!" He picked up the box and put it on a nearby table.

Pointing to markings along the side, Henry said, "According to the storage identification numbers, this box was placed in storage in July of 1962, so the time frame is correct. Let's see what's inside." Opening the box, he brought out several folders and a number of objects. There was a wallet, an old wristwatch, and a pouch with bronze and silver coins in them. From their appearance Harry guessed they were Norwegian currency. The wallet also had some bills in it — several marked 50 _kroner_ and a couple marked 100 _kroner_, with images of people Harry didn't recognize. There was no identification in the wallet.

"These _must_ be Blake's," Harry muttered. "But why didn't he take them with him, if he left St. Mungo's?"  
"It's possible he forgot them," Henry pointed out. "If he was brought in unconscious, as you said, he might not have realized he had them."

"And no one in the hospital thought to check when he left, or was transferred to a Muggle hospital?" Harry pointed out. "And where's his identification? Even back then, Muggles must have carried some way to identify themselves, like they do today."

"They would have," Henry agreed. "Americans would have had a driver's license or some other form of identification, like a credit card. He should have had a passport as well, if he was traveling abroad."

It was adding up to be quite a mystery, Harry saw. Blake _had_ been here, in St. Mungo's but either left or was taken away without his belongings. Or only some of them were taken, like his driver's license and passport. "I don't know where this leaves me," Harry said, shaking his head. "Blake has been missing for years now — I don't know how I'm going to find him."

"Why are you looking for this Muggle anyway?" Henry asked, curiously. "What's he to you?"

_The end of me being Thor_, Harry thought, but said only, "I promised his father I would try to find him. He's been missing since 1962, when he was brought here to St. Mungo's."

"I see," Henry said. He reached into his robe and pulled out a timepiece. Glancing at it, he said, "It's about tea time — would you like to join me for a cuppa up in the Tea Room? Maybe we can come up with some ideas on how to find this Blake person you're looking for."

Harry nodded, and Henry led him back into the corridor he'd come down earlier, then into a side hallway, where they found a small lift. "Normally this is for employees only," he told Harry, with a conspiratorial wink. "But in your case we can make an exception." The Tea Room, Harry recalled, was on the fifth floor, along with a gift shop. As he and Henry walked in the room, it went quiet for several moments as people turned and stared at him. Then everyone went back to what they'd been doing, and Harry and Henry each got a cup of tea, paid the register lady six Sickles each, and found a quiet table near the corner to talk. There was only one other person nearby, a gray-haired wizard with a short-cropped beard, dressed in lime-green robes, who'd apparently just finished a light meal and was reading a book while sipping at his tea.

Neither Harry nor Henry were aware, however, of the third person who joined them, invisible, at the table as they sat down. Loki watched with amusement as the "Mighty Potter" and his wizard companion discussed several ideas on how to find Blake. Potter had surprised him, back in the British pub and afterwards, when he managed to stop the attack by Malfoy's impromptu death squad without transforming into Thor.

Now, with any luck, Loki thought, the whelp and this idiotic clerk would figure out where Donald Blake was, and he, Loki, would then have another link in the chain that he would use to topple aged Odin from his lofty perch upon Asgard. With Blake dead, Odin thrown down, and the power of Thor in his possession, he would be invincible throughout the nine worlds. Even his own, _beloved_ daughter Hela, Queen of Niflheim, would be grateful to him after she received the soul of Thor, once Loki found and killed him, a deed which had been delayed for over three decades now.

"None of this will do any good," Harry was complaining. "I still have no way to get a recent lead on Blake."

"Why not do that thing you did earlier," Henry suggested. "With the hammer, you know —? The way you found that box with his things in it."

"You mean do the same thing, but for Blake himself?" Harry shook his head. "He could be _anywhere_, Henry! In thirty years, he might be on the other side of the planet, for all I know! What I need to do is find someone in the hospital who may have helped him — like one of the Healers who took care of him. Someone like that."

"Pretty tall order, Thor," Henry snorted. "I don't know anyone who's been here at St. Mungo's that long, who's still working here." He jerked a thumb at the gray-haired wizard at the table nearby. "Except maybe old Joe here — I think he's been here for 35 years or so."

"Excuse me," Harry said, and the gray-haired wizard put down his book and looked at them. "How long have you worked here at St. Mungo's, sir?"

The wizard spoke in a soft voice. "Henry's about right, I think — near 35 years, I think, maybe a bit less. I started working here in the early 1960's, as near as I remember."

"Joe's personnel records were lost at some point," Henry pointed out, in a tone suggesting such a thing wouldn't have happened had _he_ been working at the time. "We had to estimate when he started working here, along with some other information from his past — there doesn't seem to be a record of his birth."

"That sounds unusual," Harry commented.

"Not really," Joe said. He dropped his head a bit and mumbled his next statement. "Considering that I'm a Squib."

"Oh," Harry said, understanding. Squibs were wizards born without magic. He'd met a few already — his batty old neighbor, Mrs. Figg, had turned out to be a Squib sent by Dumbledore to Little Whinging to keep tabs on him. And the caretaker at Hogwarts, Mr. Filch, had turned out to be a Squib as well. Now, apparently, St. Mungo's used Squibs as well. "Sorry," he said, not knowing what else to say.

"No worries," Joe said, with a small smile. "It hasn't bothered me — I've got a job and a good life, and that's enough for me." He glanced at the clock on the Tea Room wall. It was nearly half-past four. "I guess I better get back to work," he said, collecting his book and starting to get out of his chair. Harry and Henry stood as well, and Henry took the tray sitting in front of Joe.

"I got that, Joe," he said. He looked at Harry. "You want to come back down to records, see if anything else is down there you might be able to use?"

"No," Harry shook his head. He'd glanced at the clock as well, realizing they'd been gone from the Burrow for over an hour and a half. Mrs. Weasley would probably be calling for them any time now for supper! "I have to get back to — to get back to my friends," he said, hurriedly. "Thanks Henry — thanks Joe," he said, with hardly a glance at either of them. He held Mjolnir in the air for a moment, then disappeared.

"Strange fellow," Henry muttered, dropping Joe's tray onto a trash container. A weird name like Thor, Henry thought, and carrying a _really_ weird hammer, just like the mythical Thor did, to boot! Still, he did have some interesting magic. Henry waved to Joe and left the Tea Room.

_Bah_, Loki thought. That did not go as he planned. But no matter — Potter was driven to find Blake, so he could help his godfather, Sirius Black. He would keep searching until he found something. Loki smiled. It was such a shame that not even Odin himself could free Black from where he was now. Still smiling invisibly, Loki teleported from St. Mungo's.

Joe, who'd watched Harry disappear and had remained seated while Henry left, sighed and reached behind a nearby chair, retrieving the cane he used. Standing slowly, he limped out of the Tea Room and back to his duties at the hospital.

=ooo=

As it turned out, there were more consequences for Harry and his friends' trip to the Leaky Cauldron than he'd intended. Harry had returned to the pub, removed the barriers keeping anyone from getting in or out, unsealed the doors to Diagon Alley and Charing Cross Road, then changed back into his teenaged form and laid down next to the body of Elphias Doge, giving Mjolnir a final command to allow everyone to awaken, so he could gather the others and get back to the Weasley orchard before they were missed, when Daedalus Diggle suddenly leaped to his feet and Apparated away with a loud _crack_.

"Whatwuzzat?" Ron said blearily, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He looked around, seeing Harry, Hermione and Ginny on the floor beside him. "Harry? Hermione? You awake?"

"What happened?" Hermione asked, looking around. "Why were we asleep?"

"Dunno," Harry said, rubbing his eyes, playing along.

Ron reached over and shook Ginny's shoulder. "Ginny, wake up." Ginny sat up, looking around.

"That was weird," she said. "Why'd we all fall asleep —?"

There were several loud _cracks_ in the middle of the pub, as several wizards suddenly Apparated in. Looking up, Harry groaned inwardly. They were in for it now, he saw. Diggle had gone to get reinforcements from the Order of the Phoenix.

Standing in the center of the pub with Diggle were Professors Snape, McGonagall, "Mad-Eye" Moody, and Nymphadora Tonks. They all had their wands drawn and were all facing outward, covering a different part of the pub. After a moment Moody, whose fake eye was whirling about in its socket, growled, "All clear!" and they lowered their wands. Snape, who was facing their way, caught sight of Harry and the others. A small, malicious smile tugged at the corner of his normally dour mouth.

"_Well_, well, well," he said, silkily. "If it isn't the prodigal Potter, run away from home, and his little friends." It rapidly got worse from that point, as every one of the Order members there took a turn at shouting at them for sneaking away from the Burrow. Even Tonks was cross with them.

"What were you thinking about?" she hissed at Harry, when the other Order members were busy questioning the two men left of the original five who had burst into the Leaky Cauldron. "Did you just chip over here on some lark?"

"I had to talk to Doge," Harry answered, maintaining his story. "He had information about someone who might be able to help me find — Sirius," he finished, as Tonks gave him a look of mixed disbelief and pity.

"Harry," she said, sadly. "Sirius is —"

"I can't believe even _you_ want to say he's dead," Harry cut her off, his voice quiet but angry. "You're his cousin…"

"Harry, I never even met the man until a year ago, just before we rescued you from your aunt and uncle's house last summer," Tonks replied, looking at him stonily. "My mum spoke of him, but he was always off doing stuff with your dad — he didn't have time to visit, not even her, his favorite cousin. I'm sorry he's gone, Harry. I wish I could've stopped Bellatrix from —" she cut herself off. "But you had no business putting yourself _or your friends_ at risk, running around trying to somehow bring him back from the dead! Those Death Eaters might've killed you!"

"They're not even real Death Eaters," Harry grumbled. "They don't even have the Mark." _But Draco Malfoy probably does_, he added to himself.

"That's beside the point!" Tonks exclaimed. "You weren't even supposed to _be_ here! I don't know what Molly is going to do with you lot when she gets hold of you…"

Ginny set her lip stubbornly upon hearing this, but Ron paled. Hermione also looked upset. "Tonks, we're so, _so_, sorry!" she said, almost imploringly. "We came along so Harry wouldn't be alone —"

"— and because it would be a bit of fun," Ginny added, mischievously.

Tonks gave her a severe look. "Well, I hope you had fun, then, because when you get home, it'll be time to pay the piper." If possible, Ron turned even paler.

And pay they did. Mrs. Weasley stood them up in a line: Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, and told them in no uncertain terms just how disappointed everyone was with them. How everyone, from Professor Dumbledore down to even Mundungus Fletcher, could not believe how irresponsible and unthinking they were in running off, for whatever reason, without discussing it with them first. How poor Elphias Doge was now _dead_ because of their thoughtlessness. How it could have been even worse, if one of them or, Merlin forbid, Harry himself had been killed as well. They were all summarily grounded for the remainder of the summer — no trips anywhere, not even to Diagon Alley for books, once their booklists came. And there was the usual admonitions about earning their trust once again. They were each sent upstairs, this time to separate rooms, so there would be no midnight discussions amongst themselves: Hermione was placed in Bill's room, and Fleur in Ginny's room, to her great (but futile) displeasure. Ron was banished to his own room on the fifth floor, and Harry reoccupied Fred and George's room on the second.

Harry took it in stride. He did feel bad that Mr. Doge had died, but he hadn't cast the curse that had killed him, though he knew who did — Draco Malfoy, and Harry planned to have a meeting with Malfoy soon after they reached Hogwarts. Malfoy would tell him the reason for attacking him and his friends at the Leaky Cauldron, and why he killed Elphias Doge, or Filch would be scraping him off the walls, literally.

=ooo=

Harry spent the next several weeks leading up to September first thinking about why Malfoy's men had attacked him and the others in London. His birthday came and went, with a party that was blunted by the arrival of Remus Lupin bringing news of more disappearances, dementor attacks, and the death of Igor Karkaroff, in a shack in the north of England.

The day after, their letters and booklists arrived from Hogwarts, along with a surprise for Harry — he'd been made Captain of the Quidditch team. "That gives you equal status with prefects!" Hermione cried happily, and Ron clapped him on the back while running his fingers along the markings on Harry's badge.

"I remember when Charlie wore one of these," he said gleefully, then gave Harry a sideways glance. "I suppose that makes you my Captain now, Harry — if you'll have me back on the team, ha ha…"

But if they thought this good news would soften Mrs. Weasley's attitude, and let them accompany her to Diagon Alley, they were mistaken. "I've made up my mind," she said stubbornly. "Arthur and I will pick up your books, and you can just stay here and think about what it means to obey your elders."

And to make sure they did stay at the Burrow, that Saturday, as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were preparing for the trip, the door to the kitchen opened and in trudged Remus Lupin, looking just as worn and tired as the past few times he'd visited. "Arthur and I will be gone an hour or so. You mind Remus," Mrs. Weasley told them, looking mostly at Ron and Ginny, "and I don't want to hear about any sass-talk when we get back. Do you all hear me?" Everyone nodded, including Harry and Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley said, "Good. Remus, thank you so much for looking after them this afternoon."

Remus smiled tiredly. "My pleasure, Molly. It's always a treat to spend time with four of my best students. You and Arthur take your time, don't feel like you have to rush." Molly nodded, then she and Arthur walked out of the living room and out the back door. A few moments later they heard twin _cracks_ that signaled their disappearance.

"Well," Remus said mildly, looking around at the four faces staring solemnly at him. It was the first time he'd been alone with Harry and the others since the incident. "Does anyone have anything to say for themselves about this situation?"

"Not fair, is what I'd say," Ron muttered.

Remus turned to look at him with a cold interest. "How so, Ron?"

Ron looked at Harry, then Hermione, then back to Lupin. "_We_ didn't know someone was going to attack us in the Leaky Cauldron! How could we have known _that_?"

"How, indeed?" Remus agreed, bitingly. "And so, in spite of that uncertainty, you decided to take an unsecured mode of transportation, undisguised, and just walk into a public building, expecting no one to notice you? Whose brilliant idea was _that_, then?"

There were several seconds of uncomfortable silence. Then Harry spoke up. "It was mine, Professor. I wanted to talk to Mr. Doge."

"Yes, I've heard," Remus told him. "Something about finding Sirius, right?" Harry nodded. Remus shook his head slightly. "Harry, we've tried to tell you, Sirius is —"

Harry stood up suddenly. "Yeah, I heard," he said angrily. "'Sirius is dead.' People have been telling me for _months_ now. But you don't really _know_, do you — he might be alive, on the other side of the veil!"

"Harry, please," Hermione tried to calm him. "Think about what you're saying. How could you know he _is_ alive, on the other side? What makes you think so?"

"I —" Harry hesitated. He'd nearly revealed himself as Thor to Ron, Hermione and Ginny during the fight in the Leaky Cauldron, and later in Diagon Alley. Lupin already knew. This would be a perfect time to let them all know, and hang what Dumbledore thought about it — they were his _friends_, after all! Harry reached around to his back pocket, where he'd put Mjolnir earlier.

Lupin suddenly jumped to his feet. "I want to talk to Harry alone," he announced, moving the others toward the door. Ron and Ginny both looked mutinous, as if neither of them would do ask he asked, but as he repeated the command to leave they finally stood and slouched out of the room. Hermione, looking concerned at Harry's outburst and confused by Lupin's sudden secrecy, left without outward protest. Lupin waved his wand and the living room door shut behind them. A few more gestures with his wand and he nodded, then put it away.

"Can't be too careful," he commented to Harry, "what with Extendable Ears and other items created by Fred and George knocking about out there." He sat back down in front of Harry. "Sorry," he said, absently scratching an ear. "It seemed as if you were about to reveal something to the others Dumbledore has asked you not to do."

"What if I was?" Harry shrugged sullenly. "It's not really Dumbledore's decision to make, is it? It's not like he says who you can and can't tell you're a werewolf, is it?"

"It can be dangerous for people to know that," Lupin pointed out, his voice still calm but with a measure of annoyance in it. "Since that news came out I've been unemployable except as a member of the Order, and I've had threats made against me, by both normal folks and other werewolves.

"Your situation is dangerous as well, Harry, though you may not realize it."

"Oh, I realize it," Harry said, argumentatively.

"You do _now_, after the fact," Remus went on. "But it apparently never crossed your mind to disguise yourself, or avoid going on the Knight Bus as a group, especially with two Weasleys and Hermione Granger in tow!" Lupin pointed at the wand in Harry's hand. "What happened to the stick — that's your wand, isn't it?"

In reply, Harry struck the wand against the floor and a moment later the figure of Thor stood before Lupin, hammer in hand. "Odin showed me how to use Mjolnir more effectively," he said, hefting it appreciatively. "I can now do magic with this that goes beyond my wildest dreams as a wizard."

Lupin looked taken aback. "Odin? You actually talked with him? He was supposed to be a very powerful wizard of the Aesir, who were themselves a powerful but aloof group of wizards in Scandinavia, a thousand years ago. I am surprised he let you keep the hammer, if it was actually Odin."

"It was. He let me keep the hammer because I promised to help find his son, Thor," Harry said. "He had been sent to Earth to learn humility, so he would use the hammer with more compassion, but something went wrong and he's been missing for over thirty years now," Harry explained. "Odin said he would help me get Sirius back if I found Thor, who's on Earth in human form, a man named Donald Blake."

"Does Odin know if Sirius is alive, or where he is?" Remus asked sharply.

"I — uh, don't know," Harry admitted. "He said he would help me find him."

"But such a promise might be meaningless, Harry," Remus pointed out. "It may be beyond even Odin's power to recall a wizard back from death."

"Maybe not," Harry argued. "When I met Odin in Norway, he took me to Asgard —" Lupin caught his breath, hearing this "— and he showed me his hall, Valhalla. He said that if Sirius died in battle, one of his Valkyries would have taken his spirit to Valhalla."

But Remus shook his head. "Sirius was not a follower of Odin, Harry — that is the primary requirement for being brought to Valhalla. He would have gone — onward, where even Odin's power could not touch him, only the — but never mind that," Lupin shook his head dismissively.

"What?" Harry pressed, reaching for the thought Lupin sought to hide from him. "What are you hiding? Is it about Sirius? Tell me!" Lupin shook his head, avoiding Harry's eyes; his Occlumency shields were solidly in place, but Harry power now extended beyond mere Legilimency. With the power of Mjolnir he reached into his ex-professor's mind, seeking out the thought even as Lupin sought to bury it beneath the layers of his mind. He nearly succeeded — Harry caught only a glimpse of the thought, something about — a stone? Harry, not understanding, tried to delve deeper into Lupin's thoughts.

It was too much for Lupin, however. With a groan he faltered backwards, then began to sink to the floor. Moving with amazing speed, Harry caught in him in one arm, under his shoulders, and lowered him gently into the chair he'd been sitting in earlier. "Professor Lupin!" he said, alarmed at his friend's collapse. Had he pushed things too far? But no — he could see the faint rise and fall of Lupin's chest, and hear the sound of his breathing. He waved Mjolnir over the professor, saying "Awaken, Professor," and removed the enchantments Lupin had set upon the room, then struck the hammer lightly on the floor so that he changed back to Harry just as the door burst open, spilling Ron, Hermione and Ginny into the room.

Remus opened his eyes as the three were getting to their feet. "We were trying to hear what was going on," Ron said baldly, holding up a set of Extendable Ears, "but Lupin must've made the door Imperturbable." He looked at Harry. "So what were you and he talking about, anyway?"

Harry looked at Lupin, then said, "Oh, a little of this, a little of that." Ron scowled at him. Lupin, however, nodded silently. On the off-chance that Lupin and Dumbledore were correct, and telling his friends his secret would be more dangerous for them than not knowing, Harry decided not to let any of them know until after they were at Hogwarts, in a month.

=ooo=

The next few weeks went by more quickly, as Mrs. Weasley began letting Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny practice Quidditch again in the Weasley orchard (to get them out of the house, she said, so she could get more things done during the day without the lot of moping teenagers lying about the house). Hermione kept talking around the subject of what had happened between Harry and Lupin, while Ron was less subtle — he simply demanded to know what they'd talked about.

Harry's answer in both cases was the same — nothing had happened, they were talking about Sirius and Lupin, who'd seemed tired when he came to the Burrow that day, just fell asleep. Remus didn't come around to say differently during the month of August, and he'd approved of Harry's vague answer when Ron had asked what they'd been talking about, so Harry wasn't too fussed about it.

During the final week of holiday, pressure mounted from Mrs. Weasley for everyone to get their clothes ready and their trunks packed for the trip to King's Cross. Fleur even offered to help with the laundry, a chore which Ron, who'd never washed a bit of clothing before in his life, suddenly decided to become an expert on, to Ginny's derisive amusement and Hermione's vast annoyance.

"It's disgusting how much he fawns over her!" she hissed at Harry one day, as Ron helped Fleur carry a load of laundry down to the washroom. "He's only doing it to be around her!" Harry could not disagree with this (without being turned on, he knew, if he did); so he simply watched, thankful that the heat was now on Ron and off him for a bit.

With their clothes clean and mended, and their trunks all packed and ready to go, the trip to King's Cross went relatively smooth. As Harry was still under Ministry protection, a pair of Ministry cars pulled up to the Burrow to collect the four students, their trunks and animals, including a new pet of Ginny's, a purple Pygmy Puff she'd named Arnold; it had been a gift from Mrs. Weasley, who felt a little bit guilty about not allowing them to go to Diagon Alley at the beginning of August.

After the Aurors had checked and packed the trunks and cages into the boot of each vehicle, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley waited, along with Fleur, to see the students off. As Harry walked by her, Fleur stepped forward, smiling at him. "_Au revoir_, 'Arry," she said, her voice throaty and sensual, and kissed him on the cheek. Harry, embarrassed, smiled at her and ducked into the nearest Ministry vehicle.

Ron, who'd watched this exchange with a dreamlike smile on his face, stepped toward Fleur as well, and as Hermione gave a tiny snort of disgust Ginny impulsively stuck her foot out, catching Ron's ankle and sending him sprawling on the ground in front of the group. "Oh!" Fleur exclaimed, reaching down to help him up, but he jumped up, red-faced and furious, and dove into the car next to Harry. Mrs. Weasley followed him, and Hermione, Ginny and Mr. Weasley got into the other car.

They were met at the station by two bearded, unsmiling Aurors, both of them dressed in austere Muggle-style clothing, though they hardly seemed to make any attempt to "blend in" with the other people bustling along the platforms. The boots were unloaded and their trunks and cages placed onto trolleys, and they moved quickly through the station toward barrier that would take them to Platform Nine-and-three-quarters.

Mrs. Weasley, who'd made nervous small talk during the entire drive, though no one — not Harry or Ron or the grim-faced Ministry driver, an Auror Harry didn't recognize, made any response beyond a muted grunt, seemed anxious to get Harry past the barrier. "Hurry up, hurry up, let's go," she urged him and Ron, until they were in front of the barrier itself. "Harry should go first, along with —" she looked at the Aurors accompanying them.

One of the Aurors nodded briefly then took Harry by the arm. "I can handle it by myself, thanks," Harry said, brushing the man's hand away, then grabbing the trolley and pushing it toward the barrier. He and the Auror came out the other side, where the familiar red Hogwarts Express stood, steam hissing from its sides over the platform. Hermione and the Weasleys followed them through a few moments later.

"Let's go," Harry said, indicating that he, Hermione and Ron should find a compartment to sit in, but Hermione stopped him.

"Harry, Ron and I have to go the prefects' carriage, then patrol the corridors for a while. Sorry," she added, apologetically.

"Oh yeah," Harry said. "I forgot."

"You'd all better get straight on," Mrs. Weasley said, glancing at her watch. "It's only a few minutes before you leave." She gave Ron a motherly smile. "Well, Ron, have a good term…"

Harry turned suddenly to Mr. Weasley, who was hanging back, behind his wife and the silently watching Aurors. "Mr. Weasley, can I have a word, before we go?"

Mr. Weasley looked a bit startled, but nodded. "Of course, Harry." He and Harry moved away from the others. Harry glanced back, seeing both Mrs. Weasley and the Aurors staring suspiciously at them, as well as Ron, Ginny and Hermione.

It was purely a spur of the moment idea, but Harry hoped Mr. Weasley would be inquisitive enough to follow up on what Harry had decided to tell him. "About that fight at the Leaky Cauldron —" he began, but stopped when Mr. Weasley shook his head, grimacing.

"Harry, I know you're sorry for what happened," Mr. Weasley said, slowly. "We don't have to keep going over it."

"But there's something I didn't tell anyone, before," Harry said, quickly. He didn't know how much time he had before the train left. "When we were running out the back door, into the courtyard where the entrance to Diagon Alley is, I looked back for a moment —" Harry took a deep breath "— and I saw Draco Malfoy standing behind Elphias Doge, casting a Killing Curse at him."

Mr. Weasley blanched. "Harry!" he said softly, but with great agitation in his voice. "How could you not think to mention that before _now_?"

How indeed. "I — I wasn't entirely sure it — it was real," Harry said, quickly. "It happened so fast, I wasn't sure of what I saw at first. I've been having dreams about it since then, though, and I realized that I was reliving something I'd seen before."

Mr. Weasley seemed torn between horror and fascination. "Harry, are you _sure_ it wasn't a dream? If that's where you first saw it, that may be all it is."

"No, it's real," Harry insisted. "I'm sure of it! I saw Draco kill Mr. Doge! Do you think you can investigate it any further?"

"I don't know," Mr. Weasley said, but Harry heard doubt in his voice. "Could anyone else at the Leaky Cauldron have seen him?"

Harry shrugged. "It seemed like he Apparated in, killed Doge, and Apparated back out."

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "The building had an Anti-Apparition Jinx on it at the time. Daedalus told us that he tried to Apparate to headquarters, but was stopped until after the fight was over."

"Well, a Portkey then!" Harry said, impatiently. "But I know I saw him!"

A whistle blew. Harry and Mr. Weasley looked around. The platform was nearly empty except for them, Mrs. Weasley, and the Aurors. "You'd better hurry, Harry," Mr. Weasley said. When Harry didn't move, he added quietly. "I'll look into it, Harry." Harry nodded, satisfied, and ran back to where his trunk was, grabbing it and stepping onto the nearest carriage.

"We'll see you at Christmas, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said through the window, as Harry slid the door to the carriage shut. "It's all fixed up with Dumbledore." She waved as the train began to move. "You look after yourself," she said, walking alongside as the train gained momentum. "And be good," she added, trotting now as the train picked up speed. "—and be safe!" she said finally, as the train pulled away. Harry waved back, watching as she and Mr. Weasley disappeared from view as the train rounded a corner.

Turning to look down the corridor, Harry hoped to find Ginny somewhere nearby, knowing that Ron and Hermione were off in the prefects' carriage, but she was nowhere in sight. Sighing, he grabbed his trunk, wishing momentarily for some of Thor's strength, and began dragging it forward, to see if there was anyone in a compartment he could share it with.

As Harry moved forward along the corridor, he became aware that he was being watched. Students in the compartments were pointing at him as he passed; some of them pressed their faces against the compartment glass to get a better look at him. It wasn't entirely unexpected, after all the press the _Prophet_ had given him about being "the Chosen One," but that made him no less uncomfortable. At last, near the far end of the carriage, he found a compartment with a single occupant in it — a girl with long, blonde hair and large, misty eyes who was holding a magazine upside down as she read it. Luna Lovegood. Harry pressed his face against the glass and tapped on it with a finger. After a few moments Luna looked and smiled at him, waving for him to come inside. Harry nodded and turned back to his trunk, then jumped, startled, at the three girls who were standing over it staring at him, mesmerized.

"Excuse me," Harry said, trying to pull the trunk away from them, but he bumped into someone behind him. "Sorry —" he said, then recoiled as he saw three more girls, all smiling dreamily at him. He was surrounded.

"Hey, Harry!" a familiar voice said, from behind the girls. Harry looked over them and waved as he saw Neville struggling to get to him.

"Hi, Neville!" Harry opened the door to Luna's compartment and slid inside, dragging his trunk with him, then held it open for Neville.

"Hello, Harry," Luna said. "Hello, Neville. There certainly are a lot of girls outside our compartment, aren't there?" she observed, seeing the girls watching them through the windows of the compartment.

"Hi Luna," Harry said. He pointed at the magazine she'd set on her lap. "How's the _Quibbler_ doing?"

"Very well, thank you," Luna smiled vaguely. "Circulation is well up."

Neville poked Harry in the arm. "I can't believe all these girls are watching you, Harry!" he said breathlessly. "They're even watching us, because we're with _you_!"

"Both of you were at the Ministry as well, Neville," Harry reminded him. "You must've seen that writeup in the _Prophet_, then?"

"Oh yeah," Neville nodded vigorously. "I thought Gran would be upset, but she was proud of me, she said! Well, _you_ remember!" Harry nodded, recalling meeting Neville's grandmother earlier that summer.

Luna looked up from the _Quibbler_. "That reminds me," she said. "Are we having D.A. meetings this year, Harry?" Harry looked at her and started — she was wearing a large pair of psychedelic eyeglasses; apparently she'd just pulled them out of the magazine.

"Er —" Harry shrugged after a second. "Don't see a point to them, now that we're rid of Umbridge," he said. Neville's expression fell.

"I liked the D.A., Harry!" he said. "I learned loads studying with you!"

"I liked them too," Luna added, smiling serenely. "It was like having friends."

Harry said nothing. Luna's comment was an example of her tendency to make uncomfortable, revealing statements about herself. He didn't know how to respond to that, but a disturbance outside the compartment door distracted the trio. They turned, seeing a group of fourth-year girls giggling and whispering together on the other side of the glass.

"You ask him!"

"No, _you_ ask him!"

"I'll do it," and the last fourth-year, a bold-looking girl with long, dark hair and large, dark eyes pushed open the compartment door.

"Hi Harry," she said, speaking in a loud, confident voice. "I'm Romilda — Romilda Vane. I thought you might like to come sit in our compartment, with us." She leaned forward, speaking in a stage whisper, as if Neville and Luna weren't there. "You don't have to sit with _them_."

Her rudeness annoyed Harry. "They're friends of mine," he said, coldly.

"Oh," Romilda squeaked, nonplussed. She looked at Neville (or rather, at his bottom, since Trevor had just leapt from his pocket and he was trying to find him, under the seat) and Luna, who stared vaguely back at her through her _Quibbler_ eyeglasses, looking like a multicolored owl. "Oh, okay," she said, not sure what to make of him now, and withdrew, shutting the compartment door behind her.

Harry shook his head disgustedly as the girls left. Luna, who'd been watching the exchange silently, now said, "People expect you to have cooler friends than us."

Harry looked at her. "You _are_ cool," he insisted. "None of them was at the Ministry with me. None of them fought with me."

Luna smiled at him, pleased. "That's a very nice thing to say, Harry," she said, then went back to reading her copy of the _Quibbler_.

"We didn't have to fight _him_, though," Neville, who'd been under the seat recovering Trevor all this time, emerged with his frog in hand. "My gran was still talking about that when I left this morning. '_That Harry Potter's got more backbone than the whole Ministry of Magic put together_,' she said. I think she'd give anything to have you as a grandson."

Harry, uncomfortable with comments like that, quickly switched the subject over to O.W.L. results, letting Neville discuss his scores and hopes for N.E.W.T. subjects for this year. After a bit they segued into Quidditch, and were discussing Gryffindor's prospects for the year when the compartment door opened and Ron and Hermione settled into the seats next to them.

"Blimey, I'm hungry," Ron said, rubbing his stomach. "I hope the lunch trolley comes by soon. Hi Neville, hi Luna," he added, then turned to Harry again. "Oi, guess what? We saw Malfoy earlier — he's not doing prefect duty. He's just sitting in his compartment with the other Slytherin."

Harry took interest. "When was this?"

"Just a bit ago, as we came this way. We saw him when we passed."

"What'd he do when he saw you?" Harry wanted to know.

Ron smirked. "The usual," he said, showing Harry by flipping the bird. "Not really like him, is it? Well," he corrected himself, gesturing again, "_this_ is, of course. But I'd think he'd be out there bullying first-years any chance he got."

"So would I…" Harry agreed. Malfoy must have more important things on his mind than bullying. Like — murder, perhaps?

Just then the compartment door slid open again, and a third-year girl stepped inside, her voice almost breathless as she looked at Harry and Neville.

"I'm supposed to deliver this to — to Neville Longbottom and — and to Harry Potter," she said, holding out two parchment scrolls, each tied with a purple ribbon. Harry reached up for one and as he did so, their eyes met. The girl blushed furiously and almost dropped the other scroll, until Neville took it from her, an expression of mixed amusement and envy in his eyes.

"Thank you," Harry said, and the girl nodded, then turned and stumbled out of the compartment.

"So what is it?" Ron wanted to know, as Harry unrolled his scroll.

Harry stared at its contents for a few seconds before replying. "It's an invitation," he said. "It reads, 'Harry, I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C. Sincerely, Professor H. E. F. Slughorn.'"

"Who's that?" Neville asked, looking up from his own invitation, which said the same thing.

"A new teacher," Harry replied. He looked at Neville. "Well, I suppose we'll have to go, won't we?"

=ooo=

"Well, that's six hours gone forever," Ginny later complained, as Zabini pushed past Harry in the corridor outside compartment C, the last group of students to leave Professor Slughorn's lunch, which had run on into early evening. Harry and Zabini exchanged dirty looks with one another, then Harry looked back to see Neville brining up the rear, behind Ginny.

"I'm glad that's over," Neville said in a low voice. "Strange man, isn't he?"

"Yeah he is, a bit," Harry agreed, eyes on Zabini, who was now a dozen feet ahead of them. "Ginny," he said without turning his head. "How'd you end up in there, anyway?"

"He saw me hex Zacharias Smith," she shrugged. "He kept banging on, wanting to know what happened at the Ministry, and I finally got fed up with him and gave him the Bat-Bogey Hex. When Slughorn turned into our compartment a moment later I thought I had detention for sure, but instead he asked me to come to lunch. Yeah, I'd say he's a bit mad."

"Probably a better reason than because someone's got a famous mother," Harry muttered. "Or because their uncle invented — hmmm…"

Harry's voice died off as he had a sudden brain wave. It was reckless, it was risky, but it was the best chance he had to find out what Malfoy might be saying to his Slytherin cronies. Zabini was going back to join Malfoy and the other sixth-years — what if Harry, wearing his Invisibility Cloak, were to slip into the compartment with him? What might he see and hear in there, even in the short time before they pulled into Hogsmeade Station? He'd had to lie (sort of) to Mr. Weasley, earlier that day, about what he'd seen in the Leaky Cauldron; he had not actually seen Malfoy kill Doge as he was running out the back door, but he'd viewed the events after the fact using Mjolnir to show him events that took place in the past where Doge had fallen. Maybe Malfoy would let something slip while talking with the other Slytherins. He stopped, slipping the Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and flinging it over himself.

"Harry," Neville whispered, "What're you —"

"Shh," Harry whispered back. "I'll see you two later. Go on back to our compartment."

"But —"

"Later," Harry hissed, now completely invisible. He darted after Zabini, who was now at the door of the Slytherin sixth-year compartment. He tried to slip in behind Zabini but the tall, black teenager was nearly too fast for him. The door began to slide shut and Harry, desperate, put his foot out to keep it from closing.

"What's wrong with this thing?" Zabini said, angrily, slamming it several times into Harry's invisible foot before Harry seized the door and flung it open. Zabini, surprised, did not let go of the door and toppled over on top of Gregory Goyle in a tangle of arms, legs and curses. Harry used the commotion to step up on Zabini's empty seat, hoisting himself up into an empty space in the luggage rack. For a terrible moment he thought that one of his trainers might have been visible — indeed, it seemed as if Malfoy had glanced upward and seen him, but the next moment Zabini and Goyle separated with a few final angry words, and Zabini collapsed into his seat. Malfoy, looking at the two, sniggered and lay down again so his head was once more in Pansy Parkinson's lap. Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief. He was in!

"So, Zabini," Malfoy finally said, looking at him from Pansy's lap. "What did Slughorn want?"

Zabini smirked. "Just trying to suck up to well-connected people," he said. "Not that he managed to find very many?"

"Who else was there?" Malfoy demanded, looking cross that Slughorn didn't consider him well-connected. If the man only knew who was in his home at this very moment —!

"McLaggern, from Gryffindor," Zabini said.

"Oh yeah," Malfoy conceded. "His uncle's big at the Ministry."

"Some kid named Belby, from Ravenclaw —"

"Oh, not him!" Pansy laughed. "He's a prat!"

" — and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl," Zabini finished.

Draco's pale face had flushed with anger at the mention of Potter's name. But— "_Longbottom_ was invited?"

"He was there, so I assume he was invited," Zabini shrugged.

That was very interesting, Draco thought. Longbottom was at the Ministry during the battle last spring, and so was the Weasley girl… Longbottom _must_ have known something when they left the school — Pansy had been right, they should have tortured him _more_! Not that he'd ever admit that in front of her — the bitch would be insufferable if he did so! But luck had given him something to make up for that, if what he'd glimpsed earlier wasn't just his imagination…

"Potter, precious little Potter," Malfoy said, nastily. "Obviously, the old git wanted a look at the Chosen One. But that Weasley girl — I wonder what's so special about _her_?"

Pansy looked down into his eyes. "A lot of boys like her," she said, carefully, gauging Malfoy's reaction. She looked at Zabini but kept a corner of her eye on Draco. "You think she's good-looking, don't you Blaise? We all know how hard you are to please."

Zabini looked at her coldly. "I wouldn't touch a filthy blood traitor like her no matter _what_ she looked like," he sneered, and Pansy smiled approvingly at his response.

"Well, so much for Slughorn's taste," Draco spoke again. "Too bad — my father said he was a good wizard in his day. In fact, my father was one of his favorites, back when he went to Hogwarts. I suppose he just didn't realize that I was on the train today —"

"I wouldn't expect an invitation, Draco," Zabini interrupted. "When he heard Nott's father was in Azkaban, he didn't look happy about it, and Nott didn't get invited, did he? I don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters."

Malfoy snorted, looking unhappy, and Harry took this as further indication that Malfoy had joined their ranks. That must've been what that attack at the Leaky Cauldron was about, Harry suddenly realized. Malfoy had been made a Death Eater, and his first assignment was to capture Harry Potter! And Harry had walked right into his trap, he thought, chagrinned. Harry turned his attention back to the conversation, hoping Malfoy would say something even more damning before the train reached Hogwarts.

Malfoy had waved off Zabini's comment. "Well who _cares_ what he's interested in? He's just some stupid teacher." Malfoy made a show of yawning lazily, stretching his arms so that they brushed against Pansy's bosom and thigh. Pansy giggled and pushed his arm away. "I mean," he continued. "I might not even be at Hogwarts next year — what's it matter to me whether some fat old has-been likes me or not?"

This statement brought everyone's attention firmly onto Malfoy. "What do you _mean_, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" Pansy asked indignantly, immediately ceasing to stroke his blond hair.

Malfoy gave her a ghost of a smirk. "Well, you never know," he said. "I might have — well, moved on to bigger and better things."

Under his cloak, Harry grinned triumphantly. That pretty much clinched it, in his book — Malfoy was working for Voldemort now! He'd all but admitted it! He could tell by the reactions of the others — Crabbe and Goyle seemed dumbfounded, and even Zabini was staring curiously at Malfoy — that they had not expected such a comment from him. Harry hunkered down in the luggage rack and waited to hear more.

"Do you mean — _him_?" Pansy finally asked, as she resumed stroking his hair.

Malfoy just shrugged. He had them all hooked — including the one who he suspected was watching them, invisible, from the luggage rack over Crabbe and Zabini's head. "Oh, Mother wants me to complete my education," he said, with an idle wave of one hand. "Personally, however, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it… when the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone's got? Of course not! …It'll be about the kind of service he's been given, the devotion he's received."

Zabini snorted. "You think you'll be able to offer him something?" he asked, amusement in his voice. "Only sixteen years old and not even fully qualified!"

"I told you," Malfoy sneered. "He might not care about me being qualified. Maybe he'd want me for a job that doesn't require qualification."

Crabbe and Goyle stared at one another, open-mouthed, as if they'd never seen Draco before today. Pansy was looking down at him with an expression of awe on her face. Harry, for his own part, was nauseated by Malfoy's bragging. The murdering little git —!

Malfoy pointed out the window of the compartment. "I can see Hogwarts," he said, smiling to himself at the effect he'd had on his compartment mates. "We'd better get our robes on."

Harry watched Malfoy sit up, letting Pansy stand on the seat and get their robes from a pair of bags on the luggage rack over their heads. So intent was he on watching Malfoy, however, he didn't notice Crabbe reach up from below him to take down his trunk. As he pulled it out of the rack, it struck Harry hard on the side of the head, and Harry let out an involuntary gasp of pain, only partially muffled by the noise of the trunk scraping across the rack. Crabbe looked around, frowning at what he thought he'd heard, and Malfoy looked up at the luggage rack as well, staring at it.

Harry slowly pulled Mjolnir free, getting it ready in case Malfoy should realize there was someone unseen on the rack above them. He wasn't afraid, but neither was he pleased at the idea of facing five unfriendly Slytherins alone. He might have to switch to Thor to get out of this spot! But after a moment, Malfoy looked away, apparently dismissing the noise as something else. He pulled on his robes with the others, then fastened a traveling cloak about his neck. As the train pulled to a complete halt, Goyle threw open the compartment door and stepped into the corridor, pushing smaller students out of the way. Crabbe and Zabini followed, leaving only Pansy and Draco in the compartment.

Malfoy nodded at the door. "You go on," he told her. "I want to check something first." Pansy shrugged and left. Draco sat down and opened his trunk, looking inside it. Outside, Harry noticed the corridor emptying as students exited the train. Slowly, grasping his wand tightly, he slid his face over the edge of the rack, hoping to see what Draco was looking for in his trunk.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!"

Malfoy had suddenly pointed his wand up at Harry, shouting the enchantment, and Harry's limbs went rigid, his arms snapping to his side and his legs straightening, pushing him out of the rack to fall, jarringly, on the floor. The Invisibility Cloak was bunched beneath him, so that his whole body was revealed. He lay there on his back, unable to move, staring up at Malfoy, who was grinning broadly at him.

"Thought so," he leaned over, sneering jubilantly in Harry's face. "I thought I saw a trainer floating in mid-air for a moment, back when Zabini fell on Goyle. And I was sure it was you when Crabbe's trunk hit you.

"I hope you liked my little performance," he went on, still grinning in Harry's face, who could do nothing but stare back at him. "My friends certainly did, though they don't know what I know about you." He looked around on the floor around Harry for a few seconds. "I wonder where that stick you found at the Ministry is, Potter? I should very much like to have a look at it."

Harry's heart sank. _He knew_. _Somehow, Malfoy knew_!

Not seeing what he was looking for, Malfoy _tsked_ for a moment, then continued, "Well, since I have you here…"

He raised his foot and stomped hard on Harry's face, breaking his nose. Blood spurted down the front of his clothes. "That's for my father," Malfoy hissed. He reached down for the wand in Harry's hand. "And, to make sure you won't be able to get free somehow —"

Malfoy tugged at the wand in Harry's hand, but his hand was tightly clasped about it, and Malfoy couldn't pull it free. "Let go, damn you!" Malfoy snarled, trying to jerk it free. Finally frustrated with his failure to free it from Harry's hand, he stood, raising his foot once again. "Fine. If I can get it free I'll just break it —"

Malfoy stomped down on the wand. But it did not break. Instead, his foot pushed it down so it struck against the floor of the carriage.

There was a blinding flash of light.

"What the hell?" Malfoy said, blinking as his eyes readjusted. He looked down at the floor again, but the frozen form of Harry Potter was no longer there — instead he saw a pair of gold and tan boots. He looked up, and up, into the face of a very angry black-haired man with blood on his mouth and chin. "Oh shite —"

Harry's hand shot out, grabbing Draco by the nose. "That was not very nice, Draco," he said, as Draco grabbed the hand that was now painfully squeezing his own nose. "I think I owe you a broken nose."

"Podder, you wouldn'd _dare_ —" There was a _crack_ as Harry twisted the Slytherin's nose, snapping the cartilage. "Owwww!" Harry released him and Malfoy stepped back, his eyes squeezed shut for a moment before they snapped wide open, staring at him in terror. Draco's wand came up, pointing at Harry's chest.

Harry gave a small jerk of his head, and Draco's wand flew out of his hand. They stared at each other for several moments. "How did you figure out it was me?" Harry finally asked him, in a commanding voice.

"Your eyes," Draco said, managing to sound condescending even through the pain in his voice. "They're still green — my aunt remembered them, and that Harry Potter has green eyes as well."

"Does Voldemort know?"

Draco winced at the name. "Of course he knows, Potter! I couldn't keep something like that from him, even if I wanted to."

Harry took a menacing step toward him. "_Why did you kill Elphias Doge_?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I don't know who you —"

In a moment Harry had closed the distance between them, grabbing Draco by the neck and lifting him, so that Malfoy was gasping and choking as Harry's hand closed off his air. "Don't lie to me, Malfoy! _I watched you kill him_! I saw you appear behind the man and hit him with the Killing Curse, then disappear!"

Malfoy, his feet inches above the floor, had grabbed Harry's arm. He was shaking his head from side to side. "Didn't — kill him — I swear! — you can — check wand…"

But Harry didn't need Draco's wand, not when the Slytherin's mind was laid bare by Mjolnir's power. At the time of the attack at the Leaky Cauldron, he was in Malfoy Manor with his aunt and mother, waiting for news about Potter. They had indeed sent the death squad after him, but his memories held no recollection of the attack against Elphias Doge. The images Harry had seen of Malfoy killing the old man were false.

Harry released his hold on Malfoy, letting the Slytherin drop to the floor, gasping for breath. "I believe you, Malfoy," he said, just as the train jerked into motion once again. "But that doesn't excuse your attack on me or my friends."

Malfoy didn't know whether to hold his throat or his nose. "What did you expect, Potter?" he shouted back. "The Dark Lord wants what you have! He's ordered me to take it from you or suffer the consequence! He'll kill my family if I don't do his bidding!" Malfoy stared at him, looking quite mad. "You might as well kill me now," he said, miserably. "I can't stop you."

"I don't want to kill you," Harry said, even if that wasn't exactly true — he had come close to wringing Malfoy's neck, to squeezing the breath from him, moments ago. The train was picking up speed, pulling away from Hogsmeade for its return trip to King's Cross. "If you need help, maybe you…should talk to Professor Dumbledore."

"Help?" Draco looked contemptuous. "From _Dumbledore_? He can't help me, not against the Dark Lord!"  
"You might be surprised," Harry persisted.

"I'd rather take my chances with the Dark Lord," Malfoy insisted. "So either k-kill me now, Potter, or let me go back to London. You can go running to your precious Dumbledore." Malfoy stood facing him defiantly, trying (and failing) to keep his trembling from becoming noticeable.

"Right," Harry said, shaking his head. He still hated Malfoy, but he couldn't bring himself to be angry at him any more — he was in the grasp of a powerful, Dark wizard, something Harry had felt trapped by for a long time as well, until he found Mjolnir. If nothing else, he could save Malfoy from himself.

"Sleep," he said, and Malfoy slumped to the floor, unconscious. "_Accio_ Malfoy's Wand" brought the Slytherin's wand to him; Harry slipped it into his belt. The train was still picking up speed. Harry picked up his Invisibility Cloak from the floor where it had fallen earlier, then walked over and grasped the unconscious Malfoy by the back of his cloak. He started to wave Mjolnir, to teleport him and the blond teenager back to Hogsmeade Station, but had a sudden thought. He tapped Malfoy's trunk, sending it back to Hogsmeade Station. With a whispered question to Mjolnir, he learned that his own trunk and Hedwig's cage had already been taken off the train and on to the school.

Carrying Malfoy to the end of the carriage, Harry opened the door and watched the ground rush past him. The train was traveling at perhaps 50 or 60 MPH now. Smiling, Harry threw Mjolnir and grasped its handle, soaring into the air with Draco under one arm, watching as the Hogwarts Express grew smaller and smaller as he soared high into the air, then angled Mjolnir so it pulled him back in the direction from whence they came.

Harry landed at Hogsmeade Station, beside Draco's trunk, which he had teleported back here from the train. He dropped Draco onto a bench, making sure he was still out, then tapped Mjolnir on the platform, transforming back to Harry in a flash of light. A sharp pain stabbed his nose, and Harry realized it was still broken. He tapped his nose lightly with his wand, murmuring "Heal," and the pain disappeared.

He would tell someone when he got to the school that Malfoy had fallen asleep at the Station. He wasn't too worried about Malfoy telling anyone his secret — he would done so long before now, if he intended to share it with any of his Slytherin schoolmates. No, that was something, Harry expected, that he and Malfoy would each keep to themselves for a while, them and Voldemort. Now, he realized, he would really have to figure out how to find Donald Blake, before Voldemort learned about him and went searching for him as well. There was no telling what would happen if they found Blake before Harry did. Whistling tunelessly, Harry made his way up the path used by the thestrals to pull the carriages that took the second years and above to the school.

**Author's Notes: Fixed the issue with Harry's trunk being taken off the train. Thanks for catching that, Teufel1987!**


	8. A Sirius Matter

**Harry Thunderer and the Uru Hammer  
****Chapter Eight**

**"A Sirius Matter"**

_Updated 13 August 2010_

Loki the Trickster appeared beside the river Gjoll, next to the bridge Gjallerbru, the black-stoned entrance to the lands of Hel and Niflheim, where his daughter Hela reigned as queen. Normally dressed in the finest clothing, with soft leather sandals on his feet and a wreath of mistletoe upon his head, Loki knew his daughter equated softness with weakness, and appreciated the appearance of strength above all.

Loki had therefore arrayed himself in green and black leather and armor, with a horned helmet, broadsword, and heavy boots. Most uncomfortable, unfortunately, but it was not just for appearances' sake. Of all the Nine Worlds, Niflheim was the only one where all his sorcerous power could not guarantee his safety. Here Hela was sovereign, having made a pact with Odin, long ago, to rule over the dead of the Nine Worlds that did not die in glorious battle.

Loki smiled. The pact had been made at his urging, as his daughter was independent and rebellious in her younger days, heeding neither the All-Father's words nor his own. When offered the role of a Valkyrie, bringing warrior souls to Asgard, she had spat upon the floor of Valhalla, declaring, "I would sooner rule over the dishonored dead in Niflheim than clean up after Odin!" Rather than strike her down for her insolence, Odin took her at her word, ceding sovereignty of the lands of the dead to her. There she had ruled for many centuries over the souls of disgraced Asgardians as well as giants, dwarves, dark elves and humans who had come to her after forsaking allegiance to Odin. His little girl had done alright by herself, Loki thought.

He had come here not to praise her, however, but petition her for help, in his own subtle and inimitable way, of course — he would convince her that what he wished her to do was her own idea, and that if would benefit her at Odin's expense. Though Hela had her own ambitions (Loki knew she longed to overthrow Odin and take over the realm of Asgard for herself), she had grown complacent in her own domain. It took a father's urging, every so often, to stir up her rebellious nature and kindle her hatred for the All-Father; then, Loki knew, she would be ripe for suggestion.

Loki stepped onto the bridge, walking slowly across, glancing idly to his left or right to watch the black, swift-moving waters of the river Gjoll as they rushed beneath the bridge and on into the darkness at this end of the Helway, the long path that led from Asgard to Niflheim. At the other end, Loki knew, was chained the gigantic hellhound Garm, at the entrance of the cave Gnipa; it was Garm who allowed the shades of Asgardians not chosen for Valhalla to pass through on their way to Hel, when Hela called them. He did not, however, allow anyone to leave the cave without his mistress's permission. Loki, not much interested in dogs, had avoided that route by simply teleporting to the far end of the Helway, a path so long that the dead required nine days of travel to pass from one end to the other. Now, he was prepared to enter Hel itself.

But first, he would have to pass Modgud, the giantess who guarded Gjallerbru just as Garm guarded Gnipa. As he reached the middle of the bridge, its highest point, he saw her step up to the far end, blocking his way. She was huge but skeletal, with gray skin and straggles of hair beneath her helmet. Instead of armor she wore tattered and torn animal skins. The brightest part of her was the immense spear she held in one hand as she watched him approach. The spear lowered, pointing toward him, and Loki stopped just short of the furthest reach of her spear-thrust. "Hold," she spoke, in a grim and hollow voice. "Speak your name and your business here in Hela's abode."

"It is I, Loki, son of Laufey and sire of your queen, Hela. I come to speak to her on matters concerning myself and her." Loki was already bored with this exercise. "May I pass, giantess?"

Modgud's spear pointed behind Loki. "And who is that?"

Loki didn't bother turning around. There was a body floating in the air behind him, the head covered with a black cowl. The figure's arms and legs were bound with silver cords. "Him? Oh, just a recent acquaintance of mine. I thought he would be interested to meet the Queen of Hel."

"And his name?" Modgud asked, tonelessly.

Loki shrugged. "It is not important."

"Without a name, he will not be allowed to leave Hel unless my mistress permits it."

"That is acceptable," Loki smiled toothily. "May we pass?"

Modgud was motionless for several moments, considering. She finally stepped aside, giving a jerk of her emaciated features. "You may pass, Loki, son of Laufey along with your 'acquaintance,' our newest guest."

Loki nodded curtly and walked past Modgud, along the golden path leading toward the Helgate and entrance to Eljudnir, Hela's vast throne hall, the unconscious form floating behind him. In contrast to Asgard, the land of Hel was grim and dark, with gray, leafless tress and dried scrub dotting the rough terrain. Even so, Hel was a veritable paradise compared to Niflheim, its neighboring realm, where icy cold winds blew perpetually through harsh and frozen hills and mountains. Here the dishonored dead of the Nine Worlds, granted a quasi-physical existence, wandered ceaselessly, suffering for their selfishness and misdeeds. Their only respite, Loki knew, would come on the day of Ragnarok, when the giants reclaimed Asgard as their own once again, as it had been before Odin and his armies killed many of them and drove the rest into Jotunheim.

At last Loki stood before the Helgate, the entrance to the realm of Hel itself. Challenged again, this time by some forgotten Asgardian who had fought well in his younger days but had given up battle to be with his family, Loki announced himself once more and passed inside with his captive. The doors to Hela's throne hall awaited him across a grim, forbidding courtyard, lighted by iron braziers with flames that gave no warmth. Climbing the iron steps, Loki gestured, opening the doors magically. At the far end of the hall, on a golden throne at least as large as Odin's sat Hela, Queen of the Damned.

"Greetings, Father," she spoke, in a voice that was both sensual and cold as death. "I see you are finally free once again," referring to his time imprisoned in the yew tree on the outskirts of Asgard, near the Rainbow Bridge.

"Greetings, daughter, and Queen of Hel," Loki replied, bowing in respect.

Hela silently regarded Loki from her golden throne. She was dressed in fine black and green robes that glittered in the flickering lights of her throne hall. Diamond bracelets and a shining necklace sparkled about her wrists and neck, accoutrements denoting her appreciation of elegant appearances. Finally, she spoke once again. "To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Father? Plotting against Odin once again?"

Loki chuckled. His daughter knew him well. Yet before he left Hel today, she would believe the plans he had been scheming these past few weeks were hers and hers alone. "I am always ready for the odd revolution, daughter. Yet, I confess that such was not my thinking for my visit today."

"Oh?" Hela smiled coldly. "Did your decades of captivity in the tree teach you your place in Asgard?"

"It taught me patience," Loki replied, not letting his annoyance with that remark show in his expression of mild amusement. "I would think, daughter, that after all these centuries you would have learned it as well."

"Who is that with you?" Hela asked suddenly, changing the subject. "Why have you brought a living human to my domain?"

"Him?" Loki looked back a the body, just outside the entrance to the great hall. "Oh, I just happened across him on my way here. He has an interesting story to tell."

"Really, Father?" Hela retorted, in a bored tone. "Why should I give a fig for some lost human's story, especially one _you've_ brought to me? You've quite a history of manufacturing stories for these so-called 'lost' humans, especially ones to trick me into aiding you against Odin. Not that I _wouldn't_ help topple the old fraud, mind you, but you know _I _desire his power as much as you do!"

"Ah, daughter, _such_ cynicism!" Loki shook his head sadly. "No, my dear, this mortal's tale is in regard to one of your — of _our_ — most famous failures, the mighty Thor."

Hela's beautiful but cold features twisted in anger. "Thor! Ptah!" she spat upon the floor of her hall. "He should have fallen into my grasp centuries ago! Prideful — arrogant — disobedient… it is a wonder Odin never disowned him! What is it this mortal knows about Thor?"

"Shall we ask him?" Loki gestured toward the mortal, and the hooded figure floated slowly toward them, coming to rest on the floor before Hela's throne. With another gesture from Loki the hood vanished, revealing his gaunt, emaciated features. His head, covered in long, black hair, sagged forward onto his chest; he was still unconscious, as he had been when Loki found him, floating helplessly in the darkened void between life and death. "He's a bit the worse for wear," Loki noted. "Not that such matters much, here." Loki's hand passed in front of him, and a surge of energy shuddered through him. His gray eyes slowly opened.

"Welcome back to life, mortal," Loki said to him, in a mocking tone. "Such as it is."

"Where — where am I?" the human said, hoarsely. "I was —" he looked around quickly "— fighting…" his voice trailed off as he took in his surroundings.

"You lost, apparently," Hela said, coldly. She stood, walking down the steps from the dais of her throne to stand before the man. He stared up at her, surprised at her stature — she was well over seven feet in height, and her robes, while flowing easily behind her, did not diminish the voluptuous curves of her Amazon-like body. "You are now in my _realm_, mortal, and I have questions for you to answer."

"First, tell me how I came to be here," the man demanded. He looked from Hela to Loki. "I don't know either of you! I was in the Department of Mysteries, in the Death chamber, fighting my cousin when —" comprehension dawned on his drawn, tired features. "— the Veil! I must have fallen through!"

Hela smirked at him. "Yes, that veil," she said, contemptuously. "That pathetic little rag, given to one of your kind long ago by my whore of a cousin, Skadi!"

The mortal stared at her, dumbfounded. "It was believed that veil came from Death itself, somehow, and was given to Merlin, to make him incapable of dying!"

Hela looked at her father a moment, then burst into laughter. "Perhaps it was so given, mortal, but Death makes no such bargains. _All_ eventually fall before him." Her black eyes fixed him with a penetrating stare. "You are in the domain of Hel, _my_ home and _my_ realm. How you came to be here is not my concern, but you will not leave until I am satisfied with what you will give to me. Now, tell me your name!"

"My name," the man said, "is Sirius Black."

=ooo=

Harry had barely started up the carriage path towards Hogwarts when he stopped suddenly, listening carefully. His footsteps had sounded strange to his ears and he wondered if some background noise was altering their tone. There was another crunching sound, as if someone else had taken a step after he stopped. Harry brought out his wand, muttering "_Lumos_," and spun around slowly, looking for any sign that someone was following him.

There was no one else around, and Malfoy could not have awakened so soon after Harry left him at Hogsmeade Station. However, having an Invisibility Cloak of his own, Harry knew there were more explanations than just those. His eyes searched the ground for any sign of freshly made footsteps near him that ended suddenly. He found some that ended about six feet behind him. The giveaway was that there were two footprints side-by-side, as if the person following him had stopped in place when he stopped. Harry kept turning, slowly, as if still searching, while he took a few small steps closer to the spot he'd marked. He suddenly reached out with his wand, waist-high, toward the spot where the two footprints were. The tip of his wand pressed against something and there was a soft "Ouch!" from a voice he thought he recognized.

"Tonks," Harry said quietly, "is that you?"

Tonks appeared from beneath an Invisibility Cloak. "Wotcher, Harry," she said, not smiling, though she didn't seem chagrinned at being caught out. "Pretty good observational work there — you'd make a good Auror, at that."

"Why were you following me," Harry demanded, "under an Invisibility Cloak?"

"You don't need to be concerned, Harry —" she began.

"Oh, I rather think I _do_," Harry objected. "When even my _friends_ start sneaking around behind my back, I start to get worried! So who's this for, then — the Ministry? Dumbledore?"

Tonks gave him an unsmiling look, then took out her own wand. Harry wondered what she was going to do, but she pointed it down the carriage path; an immense silvery four-legged creature exploded from the end of her wand and streaked away, into the darkness.

Harry watched it disappear in the distance, then turned back to Tonks. "Was that a Patronus? I've seen Dumbledore send messages like that."

"Yes," Tonks acknowledged. "I've sent word to the castle that you're with me, so they won't worry." She hesitated a moment, looking at him. "I've — I've also let them know that Draco Malfoy is with us."

Harry looked back towards Hogsmeade Station. If Tonks knew where Malfoy was, then she might have seen him, earlier, when he placed the unconscious Slytherin on a bench on the platform. "Tonks, what did you see?"

Tonks took a deep breath. "I saw everything, Harry. _Everything_. I've been shadowing you since you got on the train at King's Cross." She was looking at him in a way she never had before — with apprehension, and perhaps, _fear_. It did not make Harry happy to think someone like Tonks would fear him.

"Who told you about me?" he asked, quietly. "Was it Dumbledore, or Remus?"

"They told me nothing, Harry," Tonks said, quickly. "I was only supposed to follow you, to see where you went and what you did until you got to the school." She suddenly scowled. "Are you saying they already _knew_ about...about you?"

"They both knew," Harry confirmed. "But I didn't think they would…spy on my like this! And I sure didn't think," he added, honestly, "_you_ would agree to do it!"

"I wasn't doing this to spy on you!" Tonks replied at once, hotly. "I was doing this to protect you! What they expected me to discover I don't know — but I suppose they wanted to avoid a fight between you and Malfoy, or the other Slytherins." She grinned mischievously. "I'm pretty sure Malfoy didn't expect what happened, when he tried to break your wand!"

"He already knew my secret, too," Harry said, grimly.

"Oh, no!" Tonks looked aghast. "How?"

"Dunno." Harry still wondered if Neville might have spilled the beans to Malfoy without knowing it — or remembering, if they Obliviated him. But he was keeping Neville's knowledge of his secret to himself for now. "It's not important. What _is_ important is what you plan to do with it."

"What do _you_ want me to do, Harry?" Tonks asked, seriously. "I haven't seen a lot, but what I have seen tells me you have an incredible weapon that can be used against Voldemort! But we need to make sure he doesn't find a way to use it against _you_!"

"He can't use it against me," Harry shook his head. "Only someone who is worthy of holding the hammer can use it — and I don't think Voldemort has a hope in hell of doing _that_!"

"So what do you want me to do, Harry?"

"Keep what you know to yourself," Harry advised her. "Don't let Remus or Dumbledore know that you know. If they have any plans for me and the hammer, and you find out about them, I want you to let me know, okay?"

Tonks looked at him shrewdly. "You want me to spy on _them_ for you?"

"Not if you don't want to," Harry quickly replied. "But if they tell you something that you think might be useful for me to know, I hope you'll tell me. Does that sound reasonable?"

"It doesn't sound altogether _unreasonable_," Tonks replied, hedging a bit. "But if I hear something I think you ought to know, I'll let you in on it. Deal?"

"Deal," Harry agreed, and they shook hands.

They were now perhaps a third of the way to the castle on the carriage path, having walked slowly while they spoke. "If you can make it the rest of the way," Tonks said, nodding toward Hogwarts, "I'll go back and fetch Malfoy. Snape will be concerned he's not at the castle."

Harry snorted. "Merlin forbid that one of his precious Slytherins should stub his toe coming to Hogwarts. That's all he cares about — that, and tormenting the other houses with detentions and lost house points."

"Harry, that's not really fair," Tonks chided him. "Snape just isn't a very outgoing man. He's more of a…"

"An arse?" Harry supplied, sardonically. "Twit? Git? Prat?"

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Nevermind," she muttered, taking out her wand. "I'll go get Malfoy. Someone should be waiting for you at the front gates." Before Harry could say something to stop her, she Disapparated.

After a moment he shrugged to himself, then turned and continued up the path to the large metal gates of Hogwarts, framed in pillars with a winged boar on either side. There was a large set of metal chains holding them shut with a huge padlock. Harry took out his wand, pointed it at the padlock and said, "_Alohomora_," but nothing happened. "Huh," he muttered. "Must be extra security." He was fixing to order Mjolnir to open the padlock when a lantern bobbing in the darkness beyond the gate caught his attention. It probably wouldn't do if someone like Hagrid or McGonagall, or even Filch, saw him open the gate, so he put away his wand and waited.

Presently the person came into view behind the lantern, and Harry saw, with a great rush of loathing, the one person he most definitely did not want bringing him into the castle: Severus Snape!

Snape approached the gates silently, gazing at Harry through the bars with as much loathing, Harry felt, as he did for the Potions Master. After several moments Snape spoke. "Where is Draco Malfoy?"

Harry shrugged. "He's not in the habit of telling me his business, is he?"

"Tonks's message said that he was with you and her," Snape answered, his tone flat. "Why are you not with them?"  
"She went to find him," Harry said. "He stayed behind at Hogsmeade Station. Maybe he expected someone to send a carriage for him," Harry smirked. "He's probably not used to walking up to the castle."

"And where are your robes?" Snape persisted.

"Probably in my trunk, with the rest of my things," Harry answered insolently. "Since Malfoy was being a prat, I didn't have a chance to put them on."

"You and Malfoy had words?" Snape surmised.

"You could say that," Harry nodded. "And a bit more than that."

Snape stopped, looking at him. "Explain yourself, Potter," he snapped.

"Have a look," Harry pointed to the front of his shirt; it was stained with blood. Snape held the lantern out, examining the evidence. After a few moments a small smile curved the corner of his mouth.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, for lateness," he said. "And twenty more for your Muggle attire. And, I think," he added, "another twenty for fighting."

"Malfoy attacked _me_!" Harry said, angrily.

"And what were you doing to provoke him?" Snape countered.

Harry hesitated a moment, then shook his head furiously. "Nothing!"

Snape gazed at him a long moment, then leaned forward and said, almost in a whisper, "Liar. Another twenty points from Gryffindor. You know, Potter," he went on, almost conversationally. "This is the earliest I think any House has been in negative numbers — we haven't even started pudding.

"My, my, my," Snape went on smoothly, "you seem to be getting in quite a bit of trouble — first that business at the Leaky Cauldron, causing the death of Elphias Doge and getting yourself grounded until school started, and now this business of fighting with Malfoy once again, showing up late for the feast, improperly dressed to boot. At this rate, Potter, you'll be expelled by Christmas. I can't say I expect any more of you, however."

Harry felt white-hot fury and hatred churning inside him at Snape's smugness, but there was little he could do except take it. At least, he hoped, if Dumbledore hadn't told Tonks his secret, he probably hadn't told Snape, either. No matter how much the headmaster might trust Snape, Harry could see him rushing off to tell Voldemort the moment an opportunity presented itself. Of course, if Harry was right in his guess, Voldemort already knew, somehow.

And Tonks was right — Voldemort probably wanted to get his hands on the hammer, just like Malfoy had tried to do, back on the Hogwarts Express. Neither of them could possibly be worthy of it, of course — but they could also make it impossible for Harry to turn into Thor again, if he lost possession of it. He would have to be very careful to keep his wand always within reach, as well as his Invisibility Cloak.

They climbed the front steps of the castle and entered through the oaken doors, which had opened at their approach, into the entrance hall, where Harry could hear laughter and plates clinking, students talking amongst themselves as the start of term feast progressed. "Time to make you grand entrance, Potter, as I'm sure that was your intention all along." Then as Harry considered slipping under his Invisibility Cloak just as he entered the hall, Snape added, "And no cloak. You may as well let everyone see you. Go on."

Without a word Harry turned and marched through the doors into the Great Hall, past the Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff house tables, and along the Gryffindor table, to where his friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were watching his approach. The entire room had gone silent at his entrance; many students were pointing at him, and some had stood to see him better. This was exactly what Harry had hoped to avoid with his Cloak, and his fury at Snape grew with every step he took, as hundreds of eyes goggled at him. He caught snatches of whispers: "Is he the Chosen One?" "That's what the _Prophet_ says!" "Someone should ask him what _really_ happened at the Ministry!" Harry kept his eyes forward, ignoring them, until he reached the Gryffindor table where Hermione and Ron were sitting. They each budged over a bit and he sat down between them. Ron gave him a _where-were-you?_ look, then goggled at the blood on his shirt. "Blimey, Harry, what happened to _you_?"

"Tell you later," Harry muttered, aware that other Gryffindors at the table were listening closely to he was saying.

"We've been so _worried_, Harry!" Hermione said, fretfully. "When you didn't come back from Professor Slughorn's party, and Ginny said you'd —"

"_Later_, Hermione, okay?" Harry growled at her, and she promptly went silent. The only ones who knew what happened were Harry and Malfoy (and Tonks, Harry reminded himself) — let the others imagine that he'd been involved in something dangerous and heroic, he hoped. "Did Dumbledore say anything about Voldemort in his speech?" he asked, hoping that would make people wonder what he'd gotten up to while missing.

"Not yet," Ron answered.

"But he usually saves the best parts of his speech for after the feast," Hermione added. "So it won't be long now, I expect."

"Good," muttered Harry, frustrated by Snape's taunting, just wanted this day to be over. He stared with loathing at the Potions Master once more, sitting smugly at the High Table next to Dumbledore. Movement off to one side caught his eye, and he saw Hagrid waving, a broad grin just visible beneath his vast black beard. Harry managed a smile and waved back, but then returned his gaze to Snape. As much as he had loathed him for the past five years, what had placed him forever beyond Harry's forgiveness was his attitude toward Sirius. Harry crossed his arms, waiting for Dumbledore's final remarks and the end of the feast. The first chance he got, he reminded himself, he was going to have questions for the Hogwarts Headmaster.

=ooo=

Hela looked down at the frail mortal standing before her, defiance emanating from every fiber of his pitiful, weak body. She could throttle him effortlessly — her body, enhanced by the power of the Death cloak she wore, made her the equal of Thor himself. "Who were you fighting, before you came here?" she asked Black.

Sirius, still not completely understanding the situation, saw no reason not to answer. "My cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange. She and a group of Death Eaters had invaded the Ministry of Magic, seeking a prophecy about Voldemort, their leader. We had gotten word that my godson Harry Potter believed I was being held there, that they planned to force him to retrieve the prophecy for them, since only he or Voldemort could take it from where it was stored."

"Death Eaters," Hela repeated, amusement warming her cold tone momentarily. "What a quaint term! But tell me more, mortal — why did you go to your godson's rescue? Should it not be his privilege to fight his own battles?"

"He's just a boy —" Sirius began, but stopped in mid-sentence.

"Go on," Hela commanded, but Sirius only glared at her, refusing to say anything else. "Ah," she studied the mortal for several seconds. "You are hiding something about him — something quite important, judging from your abrupt silence and refusal to continue. You will save yourself much suffering if you simply tell me now, mortal."

Loki watched, an expression of mild interest on his handsome features; inwardly, however, he was chuckling gleefully. His daughter had taken the bait; she would not relent until Black gave up his secret.

"There is nothing you can do to me," Black told her, icily, "that will make me tell you. You can kill me, if you like. I've faced worse."

"You think so?" An expression of malicious joy came over Hela's features. "Yet I think _not_, Sirius Black. I am not some vainglorious mortal wizard attempting to take over a miserable bit of dirt, to rule over the other pitiful humans scurrying about around him. I am HELA, Queen of the Damned, Queen of Hel itself! I can make you long for death, yet be denied its release. Now _speak_ — tell me your secret, or face my wrath!"

Sirius slowly shook his head. "I guess we'll have to do this the hard way," he said, contemptuously.

Hela smiled, a terrible, horrific smile. "Good," she said.

=ooo=

At last Professor Dumbledore rose from his center chair at the High Table, and the talk and laughter resounding through the Great Hall died away almost immediately.

"The very best of evenings to you all!" he said, a broad smile spread across his face, his arms thrown wide as if to embrace the whole room. Once again Harry marked the headmaster's right hand: blackened and shriveled, looking just as dead as it had the night he'd come to Privet Drive to bring Harry to see Horace Slughorn, then to the Burrow.

"What's happened to his hand?" Hermione gasped, and whispers and muttering filled the room as Dumbledore smiled, letting the purple-and-gold sleeve of his robe hide his injury once more.

"Nothing for you to worry about," he remarked, with an airy wave of his other hand. "But now, let us move on to more immediate matters. First, to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! I hope you are all eagerly anticipating a year full of magical education!"

"You didn't seem too surprised to see his hand, Harry," Hermione whispered to him. "Was it that way when you saw him last?"

"Yeah, I saw it when he came to get me at Privet Drive, the second Friday of July," Harry replied.

"We saw him the Tuesday before," Ron whispered, and Harry turned to look at him questioningly. "Well, Hermione was worried about you, and she wrote a letter to Dumbledore telling him we'd all been having dreams about you. You know, make him think we were getting brain waves from you, or something."

Hermione was blushing. "It didn't work, really — he saw through that immediately. But he did come and talk to us, and there was nothing wrong with his hand then."

"So it happened sometime between Tuesday and Friday," Harry deduced. "I wonder what happened — when I asked him, he wouldn't talk about it."

"It must've been something terrible," Hermione said, in a nauseated tone. "His hand looks dead — like it was affected by some terrible curse. Or maybe," she continued, pensively, "by a potion with no known cure. It might also have been —"

"We get the picture, Hermione," Ron cut her off. He glanced back toward the High Table as Dumbledore continued speaking.

"…and Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has reminded to tell you that there is a blanket ban on any and all joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

"As if that'll stop anyone," Ron snorted. "They told Mum that stuff is flying off their shelves. Blimey, I wish we'd had a chance to visit their new shop this summer!"

Harry said nothing, as it was pretty much his fault that they'd been unable to go anywhere, having been grounded by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley for sneaking off to the Leaky Cauldron to talk to Elphias Doge, prompting an attack from wizards pretending to be Death Eaters (at Draco Malfoy's instigation, Harry was virtually certain!) that caused Doge's death. Someone posing as Malfoy had appeared, killed Doge with what looked like the Killing Curse, then vanished again. Harry had no idea who'd done it, but he'd come to the conclusion that it could have been only one person.

Lord Voldemort.

Why Voldemort wanted to frame Draco Malfoy for Elphias Doge's death, Harry couldn't quite fathom, but it sounded just far-fetched enough to be true. Perhaps, in the next few days, Harry might find an opportunity to corner Malfoy and find out what he might know about Voldemort's whereabouts, and whether he was still in the Dark Lord's good graces. It was entirely possible he no longer was, if Malfoy's death squad had failed to capture him. On the Hogwarts Express, Malfoy had talked like he might be recruited by Voldemort, but he might have just been boasting in front of the other Slytherins. Harry smiled thinly; he would enjoy wringing the information from Malfoy — he still remembered the pain of his shattered nose when Malfoy stamped on his face.

Dumbledore had been introducing Horace Slughorn, who was standing and waving to the students. "Professor Slughorn is a former colleague of mine," Dumbledore continued. "He has agreed to resume his old position as Potions Master."

Harry looked at Hermione and Ron, his eyes widening in shock. "Did he say _Potions Master_?" Ron yipped.

"I thought you said he was going to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Harry!" Hermione added, in an equally surprised tone.

"I thought he was!" Harry all but shouted. The other students were talking excitedly amongst themselves as well, collectively shocked by this revelation.

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," Dumbledore continued, his voice now loud enough to be heard over the din of surprised and confused students, "will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"No!" Harry shouted, so loudly that many heads turned in his direction. Dumbledore _couldn't_ give the DADA position to Snape — wasn't it widely known that he didn't trust Snape with the job?

Snape, for his part, was sitting on Dumbledore's right side, a small smile creasing his face as he raised a hand and lazily waved it in acknowledgement of the cheers and applause coming from the Slytherin table. From the other tables, not so much.

"At least there's one good thing," Harry snarled.

"What's that?" Ron asked, skeptically; he was imagining a whole year of N.E.W.T. Defense Against the Dark Arts classes with Snape as professor, and it wasn't pretty.

"Snape'll be gone by the end of the year," Harry answered. "The position's cursed, remember? No one's lasted more than a year since we got here."

"Yeah, but he could just go back to teaching Potions again, couldn't he?" Ron pointed out. "That Slughorn bloke might not want to stick around more than a year."

"Don't ruin my happy thought, Ron," Harry said, plaintively. "I'm trying to find a silver lining, here."

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and Harry and Ron quieted down, along with the rest of the room. "Now, as you all know by now, Lord Voldemort is once again at large and are gaining in strength."

The silence in the room grew taut and strained. Harry glanced across the room, toward the Slytherin table, only to find Draco Malfoy staring unblinkingly at him. He and Malfoy locked eyes for a moment; then Malfoy looked down, and Harry turned back to watch Dumbledore, a small smile quirking his lips.

Dumbledore went on, emphasizing the danger everyone was in and explaining how the castle's magical protections had been increased to much more powerful levels than ever before; but everyone must still avoid becoming careless, and abide by all security restrictions imposed by the teachers, most especially the after-hours restrictions. He then implored all students to report any strange or unusual behavior they might see, inside the castle or out, to a staff member immediately, and for everyone, always, to conduct themselves with the utmost regard for their own and others' safety.

The Great Hall had gone utterly silent by this time — the only noise was the sniffling of a few first-years at the Hufflepuff table, who were looking at one another, some teary-eyed with fright. Dumbledore then smiled brightly at them all and concluded, "But now your beds await, as warm and as comfortable as you could possibly want, and I know your top priority now is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore bid one another a good night. Pip, pip!"

The Hall filled with the sound of benches moving back and students moving towards the exit. Most of them seemed in a hurry to be shot of the Great Hall, especially after Dumbledore's speech. Harry, not wanting to subject himself to the throng of exiting students and their inevitable questions, hung back, pretending to re-tie his trainers as most of the Gryffindors filed past him and ignoring their inquiring looks. Hermione had gone ahead, shepherding the first-years to their dormitories; the only person left was Ron, who hung back with Harry.

"So what happened?" Ron asked, pointing to the blood that was still on Harry's shirt.

Harry didn't like lying to Ron, but he still wasn't ready to tell him about Thor. "Got into a fight with Malfoy," he shrugged, which was true enough. "He got in a good punch — broke my nose." Then, because his nose obviously was no longer broke, added, "I saw Tonks on the way up from the station, and she fixed it."

"Yeah, he was late getting here, too," Ron remarked. "I didn't see him come in, but when Dumbledore started his speech I saw him looking at you. He didn't look very happy, either." Ron grinned. "So what'd you do to him, then?"

"Broke his nose, too," Harry replied, with a smile of his own.

"Ginny said you disappeared under your Invisibility Cloak when you were coming back from visiting Slughorn," Ron mentioned.

"Yeah," Harry nodded; he was eager to share this with Ron. "Wait'll you hear what he said before he found out I was there…" He repeated what Malfoy had said about being recruited by the Dark Lord, expecting Ron to be surprised and alarmed. But Ron just looked mildly amused.

"Well, he was obviously showing off in front of Parkinson, wasn't he?" Ron pointed out. "After all, what kind of mission could You-Know-Who have for a little ferret like him?"

Harry was annoyed. "How d'you know Voldemort wouldn't want someone like him at Hogwarts, Ron?"

"Harry, I wish yeh wouldn't use that name," a voice behind them said; Harry and Ron turned to discover that Hagrid had followed them out of the Great Hall. He was shaking his head reproachfully at Harry.

"Dumbledore uses it," Harry pointed out.

Hagrid shrugged. "Well, that's Dumbledore, innit? So how come yeh were late, Harry?" the giant asked. "I was worried about yeh!"

"Got held up on the train," Harry shrugged. "Why were _you_ late?"

Hagrid grinned proudly. "I was with Grawp." Grawp was Hagrid's younger half-brother, found when Hagrid and Madame Maxime paid a visit to a group of giants that the Order of the Phoenix wanted to convince to join their side. "I just los' track of the time. Dumbledore made a home for 'im in the mountains — fixed up a nice, big cave fer 'im. We had a really nice chat before I remembered it was time fer the feast."

"Really?" Harry said, smiling. "A nice chat?" The last time he'd seen Grawp, the giant had a vocabulary of maybe five words, and two of those he couldn't pronounce right!

"Yeah, he's really coming along," Hagrid beamed, not hearing the irony in Harry's voice. "I'm thinkin' of trainin' him up as my assistant — bless you, Ron!"

Ron had just given out what sounded like a sneeze, but Harry knew he had snorted loudly upon hearing Hagrid's plan to train his younger sibling.

They were now in the Entrance Hall. "Anyway," Hagrid said, heading for the front doors, "I'll see yeh both tomorrow, straight after lunch. If yeh come early yeh can say hello ter Buck — er… Witherwings, that is." Hagrid waved cheerily and headed out the front door into the darkness.

Harry and Ron looked at one another. "Blimey," Ron said. "I didn't think of… you're not taking Care of Magical Creatures, are you?"

"No," Harry shook his head.

"Neither am I. What about Hermione?"

"I don't think so," Harry said. He hated to think how Hagrid was going to feel when he found out that none of his three favorite students were continuing with his class. "Come on, we'd better get up to Gryffindor Tower."

They trudged up to the seventh floor and down the corridor to where the portrait of the Fat Lady hung, the picture covering the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. "Yorkshire pudding," Ron said to the Fat Lady, giving her the password, and the picture frame swung open for them to climb inside. The common room was nearly empty, but there were a few clumps of sixth- and seventh-years scattered about the circular room; most of them turned to stare at Harry and Ron as they entered, then went back to their conversations. Hermione wasn't in the common room, though, so the pair went on up the boys' staircase to their dormitory.

The only person in the room when they got there was Neville. "Hi, Harry — hi, Ron," he called out as they entered.

"Hi, Neville," they both greeted him, then Ron stretched and yawned mightily. "It's been a long day, hasn't it, Harry? I feel like could sleep 'til Tuesday!"

"Don't worry," Harry said, taking off his robe. "I'll make sure you're up for your first day of classes." He glanced around at the other beds, then at Neville. "Where are Seamus and Dean?" he asked the round-faced young man.

"Uh — dunno," Neville said, in a faltering voice, and Harry gave him a curious look. Neville looked like he was biting back something he wanted to say.

"Neville, do you have something to tell us?" Harry asked. Neville just shrugged and shook his head.

"Come on, Neville," Ron said, starting to shrug out of his robes as well. "Whatever it is, you might as well — ow!" Something pointy had bumped into the back of Ron's head. He looked around, then picked up a small object from the floor. "What the hell is this?" he said in an annoyed voice, holding it out.

Harry looked. It was a small airplane made from a piece of folded parchment. "See if there's anything written on it," he suggested.

Ron unfolded the airplane and looked at the parchment for a moment. "Oh bloody hell," he muttered. "It's from Hermione — I should have known!" He began to read from it.

Ron,

In case you forgot, we have patrol duty on the 4th and 5th floors for the next hour. I'll be waiting at the bottom of the 5th floor staircase for you.

Hermione

"What a load of crap!" Ron complained, crumpling the parchment.

"It _is_ a bit inconvenient, isn't it?" Harry grinned. "Being a prefect, I mean?"

Ron shrugged, not really appreciating Harry's irony. He refastened his robe and picked up his wand. "I guess I'll see you two later," he said, heading for the door.

Harry continued getting ready for bed, putting on his pajamas. Neville, for his part, didn't speak again, but neither did he move from where he was sitting on his bed. Finally ready for sleep, Harry climbed under his covers, set his wand on the bedside table next to his four-poster along with his glasses, and nodded to Neville.

"Night, Neville."

"Harry?" Neville's voice was tentative.

"Yeah?"

"What — what happened on the train after you put on your Cloak?"

Harry sat up again. Neville was the only person at the school, other than Dumbledore (and now Malfoy, Harry amended himself) who knew his secret. He'd been tortured by Malfoy and his goons on the trip home from school at the beginning of summer, because they thought Neville might know where he'd gone. Whether Neville had told them anything or not was immaterial to Harry — Neville was a true Gryffindor, like him.

Harry recounted his hiding in Malfoy's compartment and listening to Malfoy boast of being recruited by Voldemort, then what happened afterwards. Neville almost looked gleeful, hearing about Malfoy's nose. Harry didn't mention anything about Tonks — she was a wild card in this game at the moment, but right now Harry was more concerned about finding out how involved Malfoy was with Voldemort now, and where the Dark Lord was, if he could. If Malfoy really was working for Voldemort, as he claimed, he should know that much, at least.

"Do you really think Malfoy is working for Y-you-Know-Who now?" Neville asked him, looking a bit scared.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Harry said. "Ron thinks Malfoy was just showing off for Pansy Parkinson."

Neville shrugged. "She was with Malfoy when he, Crabbe and Goyle were…were, uh, asking me q-questions…" his voice trailed off with a shudder.

Harry frowned. He'd asked this before, and Neville hadn't really answered, but — "Neville, what did Malfoy _do_ to you?"

Neville looked at Harry, then turned away, shaking his head. "He — he q-questioned me about w-what happened to you, I told you that b-before."

"I know you did," Harry said, quietly. "But now I want you to tell me the truth."

Neville sighed. "Well, it wasn't pretty," he finally said. He briefly related some of what Malfoy ordered his two hulking stooges to him. Harry's eyes narrowed in real anger as he listened to the indignities they had inflicted on his friend. "But I didn't tell them about you, Harry! I promise!" he finished.

"I believe you, Neville," Harry replied, grimly. "And I promise you, Malfoy's going to be sorry for what he did. Him and Voldemort both!"

=ooo=

Draco Malfoy, hidden in the shadows of the grand marble staircase, in the Entrance Hall, that lead to the first floor, watched as Potter and his blood-traitor friend Weasley talked with half-giant buffoon Hagrid. He had hung back as the rest of the Slytherins had passed through the door leading to the dungeons beneath the castle, where the Slytherin common room was located.

He touched his nose gingerly, still remembering the pain Potter had inflicted on him in his Asgardian form. The half-blood Auror who'd found him on the Hogsmeade Station platform had mended it for him; she hadn't even reacted when, instead of thanking her, he demanded she arrange transportation for him to the school. Instead, she'd told him to start walking, then disappeared the moment his back was turned. Fortunately, before he'd traveled more than a hundred yards his Head of House, Professor Snape, had arrived and allowed him to Side-Along Apparate to the front gates of Hogwarts.

They had then proceeded up the path and inside the castle, where Snape placed a Disillusionment Charm on him, allowing him to take a seat near Crabbe and Goyle before removing it as he passed on to the High Table, where that old fool Dumbledore introduced their new Potions teacher, Slughorn (Malfoy's lip had curled at the sight of the fat old git, who obviously didn't know how important the Malfoys were in the Wizarding community) and announced that the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was their Head of House.

Excitement had run across the Slytherin table, as Snape was the first Slytherin to hold the position in decades. Draco would have to write home to his aunt and mother, letting them know; his Aunt Bella would surely inform the Dark Lord, though he probably already knew.

Potter and Weasley were walking toward the staircase. Draco slid back into the shadows as they passed, then watched them trudge up the steps and out of sight on their way to their common room on the seventh floor. He sank back into the shadows of the staircase, thinking back to his last conversation with the Dark Lord, the night before his departure for Hogwarts. His master had not been pleased with his failure to bring Harry Potter and his enchanted stick before him, a few weeks earlier — Draco had expected to feel the agony of the Cruciatus Curse for his punishment. But the Dark Lord had spared him that, though he refused to admit Draco into his presence again until last night. Then, he had called all of them into the drawing room: Draco, his mother Narcissa, his aunt Bellatrix, and the rat, Wormtail.

"Draco will be leaving us tomorrow, to return for another year of groveling at that old fool Dumbledore's coattails," the Dark Lord announced. He red eyes locked on Draco's. "You know your assignments, young Draco?"

Draco nodded. "Yes, Master," he said. It was strange using that term now, though his left arm tingled as he said this, reminding him that the Dark Lord was indeed now his master, literally; he had bound himself to Voldemort several weeks earlier, against his mother's wishes. "I have already talked with Borgin about the items we discussed."

Narcissa glanced at her son, realizing now where he had disappeared to while they were at Diagon Alley procuring his books and supplies for his sixth year. She could say nothing in front of the Dark Lord, however, though she had taken her own steps, over Bellatrix's objections, to make sure that Draco was protected should he fail to accomplish the mission he had been assigned.

"Very good," Voldemort nodded. "You must complete both of them by the time you return home next summer. By then, I will have all preparations made to begin moving against the Ministry."

"And what of my father?" Draco asked. Both his aunt and his mother looked surprised by the question — the Dark Lord had already spoken on the matter, some time ago. But Voldemort merely smiled thinly.

"Your father is quite safe where he is now, Draco," he told the young blond man. With the dementors no longer obeying the Ministry, and free to move about Britain, there is much unhappiness and discontent, in both the wizarding and Muggle communities across the land. The Ministry must also devote more of its Auror forces toward guarding the prisoners there, making it easier for us to strike fear into the population. We are gaining in strength.

"I will expect a report on your progress when you return home at the end of the year," he added, then waved a long-fingered hand in dismissal, sending all of them but Wormtail from his presence.

"You should be more careful," his mother warned him later, as they were preparing to leave. "You should not speak so rudely in the Dark Lord's presence."

"Yes, I see what a congenial house guest he's been, these past few months," Draco retorted, his tone heavy with sarcasm. "We've hardly noticed he's here, have we?"

"Quiet," his mother said, and he fell into a resentful silence.

"Where is Aunt Bella?" he asked, playing on his mother's jealousy. She did not like the thought that Draco might prefer her sister's presence to hers. "I thought she would want to see us off."

She is engaging the Master in conversation," Narcissa told him, some urgency in her voice. "So that you and I might speak candidly. Draco, you do not need to do this —"

"Yes, Mother, I _do_," Draco cut her off. "This is my chance to redeem Father in the Dark Lord's eyes." _And me in Father's eyes_, he added to himself. His mother didn't seem to realize how disappointed Lucius Malfoy was in his son, but Draco had felt it for years, now; the quiet disdain in his father's voice every time Draco complained of the favoritism shown to Potter or his friends, or his avoidance when Draco was home on break or during holiday.

"Stubborn, just like your father," Narcissa muttered, and Draco felt a curious pleasure in the comparison. "Very well, then, I suppose I cannot tell you what to do while you're away at school. But," she added, looking at him carefully. "If you find yourself unable to complete the Master's assignments, I want you to go to Snape."

"Snape?" Draco looked annoyed by the suggested. "Mother, this is _my_ assignment! I can't go running off to Snape — besides, he's too busy trying to grab all the glory for himself, anyway! He's not going to want to help me unless there's something in it for _him_."

"He's already done more for you than you know."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Draco asked, nonplussed by her response.

"He's proved his loyalty to the Dark Lord many times over," Narcissa told him. "If there's any way for him to help you, let him know."

"I won't need his help," Draco declared, flatly. "I've already got things figured out. Well, almost," he amended himself. "If I can just figure out where it's got off to…"

"Where what's got off to?" his mother asked, curiously, but Draco only shook his head. She had already shown that she believed Snape would be an aid to him in his assignments — he could not be sure she wouldn't tell the Potions teacher anything she might know, and that could only increase the likelihood that Snape would meddle in his affairs.

"Very well," his mother sighed, annoyance in her voice at his silence. "Get you trunk and let's go."

Draco took out his wand, pointed it at the trunk and said, "_Locomotor Trunk_." He followed his mother into the swirling green fire in the fireplace of his father's study. They passed through, arriving in the small room that Draco knew was somewhere inside Borgin and Burkes. His mother pulled on a cord hanging near the fireplace, and a few moments later Borgin entered the room, bowing and shuffling deferentially. Draco noticed the oily-haired man kept his distance from him.

Borgin wrote their arrival time in the ledger on the tall accountant's desk, then led them to a different room, with a similar fireplace in it. Borgin tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the flames, which turned to a swirling green, and they passed through once again, into the small antechamber hidden in a wall on Platform 9¾.

Draco started for the exit, but his mother put a hand on his shoulder. He turned back to her, prepared to argue once more about Snape and making his own decisions.

But his mother had a softer look on her face than he'd expected — more motherly, and more concerned than he'd ever seen her. "I want to tell you something," she said, slowly. "I have never told anyone this, not even your father."

"What is it, Mother?" Draco asked, intrigued.

"If you are looking for something at Hogwarts you cannot find," she told him. "Go to the seventh floor; find the corridor with the tapestry of a wizard teaching trolls to perform ballet."

Draco looked confused. "That old thing? What would I want with —"

"Quiet, and listen!" his mother cut over him. "Walk back and forth in front of the tapestry, thinking to yourself that you _need_ to find whatever you are looking for. You must think of it very clearly. On the third, or perhaps fourth pass, you should see a door appear in the wall opposite the tapestry. Go inside and seek the item you need to find."

"How did _you_ come to find such a room?" Draco asked. Narcissa opened her mouth, but then closed it, shaking her head.

"Not important," she told him. "But it helped me out of a sticky situation, that's all I can tell you." She nodded toward the door. "Now, let's get you on the train — we are probably the last to arrive, it's nearly eleven." She hesitated for a moment, then embraced her son, holding him tightly, wondering if it was the last time she might ever see him alive. Draco allowed the closeness, though it made him uncomfortable — he could guess what his mother was thinking, she'd voiced the fear that something would happen to him at the school this year, especially if Dumbledore found out what he was planning. "I'll — I'll see you soon, Draco," she whispered in his ear as she released him.

"Goodbye, Mother," Draco nodded to her, then grabbed his trunk and wheeled it through the exit, heading for the train. Down at the far end of the platform, near the end of the train, he saw Potter with his friends, their parents, and two dark-suited men he didn't recognize, but assumed were Aurors. _Just like Potter_, Draco fumed. He possessed a hammer that was potentially the most powerful weapon known, yet he had Aurors standing about while he chatted with friends and family! Scowling, Draco entered the nearest carriage car, finding the compartment where Crabbe and Goyle were, then made his way to the prefects' carriage, though he had no intention of doing any prefect duty today — he had more important things to consider.  
Now, hours later, he stood at the base of the grand staircase in the Entrance Hall, considering what his mother had told him. He would have to be careful; he was a prefect, after all, but they were supposed to patrol in pairs these days. Draco smirked. Because of the Dark Lord, of course. If he were seen walking about on the upper floors it would arouse suspicion in both Dumbledore _and_ Snape. It would be nice to have an Invisibility Cloak lying about right now!

The Hall had been empty for several minutes. Draco crept up the staircase, moving carefully along the walls, staying in shadows as much as possible. It took some time for him make it up to the seventh floor, and another few minutes remembering which corridor contained the tapestry his mother had spoken of. At one point he heard voices, but managed to slip into an unused classroom just as Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, two Gryffindors, turned into the corridor, talking quietly amongst themselves. Draco listened carefully until their footsteps faded, then stepped into the corridor again, grimacing his disgust. The Gryffindors walked about these upper corridors as if they _owned_ them, he sneered to himself.

He finally came upon the tapestry, and stared at the rather ridiculous image of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls how to perform ballet, with contemptuous disdain. The wall opposite the tapestry looked unremarkable; it was rather plain, in fact. Briefly Draco considered that his mother might have been having him on, but discounted it immediately — she'd seemed genuinely worried about him when they'd parted.

Well, he might as well get started. According to his mother, one must pace back and forth along the floor in front of the tapestry, thinking very hard about what one required. Draco concentrated on the object he'd spent much of last term searching for — the Vanishing Cabinet that Montague had been locked in by the Weasley twins the previous year, when he, along with Malfoy and several other students had joined Umbridge's Inquisitional Squad. After Montague had returned, it disappeared from the first floor corridor near the staircase to the ground floor, and Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had spent some time trying to find it until Montague turned up again.

Crabbe and Goyle had never rumbled to the usefulness of having such a cabinet, and Draco hadn't bothered to point it out to them, but he'd realized that it was a twin to the Vanishing Cabinet at Borgin and Burkes, and if he could get them both working again, he'd have a way of moving between Hogwarts and Diagon Alley that even an underage wizard could use. The possibilities that that point were quite open — assuming he could find the Vanishing Cabinet again!

On his third pass in front of the tapestry, a large oaken door appeared on the wall opposite it. Draco looked left and right down the corridor, seeing no one around, then opened the door and stepped inside, wondering what he would find.

He stopped short, looking around in amazement. The room he was inside was _huge _— much larger than could actually fit on the seventh floor of the castle. It looked as large as a cathedral, with high windows that seemed filled with daylight, despite the fact that it was after dark. But what was inside those walls was what made the place so amazing…

There were stacks and walls of objects that Draco realized must be all the things ever lost or hidden at Hogwarts over the years, things both familiar and that Draco had never imagined. There were books, shelves of scrolls, heaps of broken desks, chairs, tattered upholstery. He saw piles of rusting swords, tarnished shields and helmets, old coats of mail or chain armor, even a full suit of plate armor, standing crookedly at the end of two alleyways that forked away from one another, their sides built of stacks of books and broken, empty potion cabinets. He saw broken mirrors, winged catapults and Fanged Frisbees, and even an axe, one edge stained with what appeared to be dried blood. He wandered past an enormous stuffed troll, incongruously holding a small bundle in the crook of one huge arm; an edge of the cloth hung over its arm. He turned to the right past it, walking on a short way before finding what he'd been searching for — the Vanishing Cabinet!

As he'd known, it was broken — it had been dropped several years earlier, apparently by Peeves who was attempting to annoy Filch for some reason. When the Weasleys threw Montague in it, he'd been gone for some time; he'd told his story to Draco after his returned, but it had made little sense to Draco at the time.

Then, over the summer, he'd realized that if he could find it, and it could be fixed, he'd have a way to escape the school once his assignments were complete. He'd talked to Borgin about getting instructions on how to fix the Cabinet, but the oily old git wasn't inclined to help until Draco had shown him the Dark Mark on his left arm. _Then_ the man had come around, and quickly, too!

Draco looked about, wondering if there was anything in the room that could help him defeat Potter, especially in his Thor form. According to the legends, the hammer he possessed was quite powerful; if Draco could manage to lure Potter to this room, then get his wand away from him before he had a chance to use it to transform, _he'd_ have the Hammer! Then his assignment would be simple — he'd bring Potter, bound and helpless, to the Dark Lord. Draco smiled — once he'd figured out how to use it, that is — Draco had no intention of giving up such a powerful weapon once he had it in his grasp. Not even to Lord Voldemort.

=ooo=

How long Sirius's screams had resounded throughout Eljudnir, none of the other denizens there cared to know. Except for those forced to stay to do Hela's bidding, most had slunk away, into the cold gray shadows of Hel, or even to the harsh, freezing lands of Niflheim, lest the Queen of the Damned become bored with her toy and discard it, looking for fresh victims to torture.

Black was affixed to a tall, wooden post jammed upright in the middle of the fire pit in the middle of the hall. His arms were above his head, a spike through each wrist, and his bare feet dangled well above the ash-covered pit floor. Welts and cuts covered his chest and legs, the result of two burly warriors who had whipped him ceaselessly for several hours now; they had been dismissed, and slaves now carried in bundles of wood, to drop into the pit beneath the mortal. Hela sat on her golden throne, regarding the battered, bloody human with black eyes glinting with both malice and respect. Beside her, Loki watched the proceedings with quiet pleasure, at the same time hoping it would not take much longer for Black to break.

He had not given up the information on his godson, Harry Potter, yet. Loki was surprised — normally humans, being the weak, pitiful creatures they were, quickly capitulated when confronted with real pain. Black had screamed, cursed them, vowed revenge when he finally got free — but had not revealed Potter's secret.

"He is strong, this one," Hela noted, speaking so only Loki could hear her. "His will is more powerful than I imagined a human's could be."

"He is near the breaking point now, daughter," Loki said, desiring that she continue. She must be the one to wrest the secret of Potter's transformation from Black's mind. "He will give in when you light the fires below him."

"Perhaps," Hela shrugged indifferently. "It matters naught to whether he breaks now, tomorrow, or a week from now. I have all the time in the world."

_But I do _not, Loki thought, frustrated. The pit was now filled with wood, and Hela stepped down from her throne, waving away the slaves, who quickly vanished into the shadows, and approached Black, walking around the pit with an appraising eye, waving a hand now and then to shift the firewood more evenly. Finally, she stood before Black, a smile of sadistic pleasure crossing her features.

"So, mortal," she asked, her voice both seductive and threatening. "Will you yield up your secret now, or must we make things even hotter for you?"

"Never," Black breathed, then coughed, sending blood spraying from his lips. "I will never tell you! You may as well kill me now."

Hela laughed. "If you were anywhere else in the Nine Worlds, mortal, you _would_ be dead by now! You live now because I refuse to grant you the boon of death, not until you tell me what you know!"

"I was wondering about that," Sirius said, almost conversationally. "It's been getting harder and harder to breathe, but I'm still alive, somehow."

"Make it easy on yourself," Loki, standing next to Hela, urged him. "Give up your secret, Black. In the end, you are only going to lose, anyway — there is no need to prolong your suffering."

"In that case, feel free to get me down from here," Black retorted, then coughed again.

Loki scowled. This was getting them nowhere, it seemed. "Impudent mortal! Don't you realize you have no hope of — eh? What's that commotion?" He looked past Black, toward the doors of the great hall, as a loud noise boomed outside.

Hela glared at the doors as well. "Who dares —?" The rest of her words were drowned out by a deafening crash as the doors burst inward, smashed aside by an object hurtled through them. Loki's eyes grew wide as he recognized what had battered down the heavy, iron-reinforced doors.

The Hammer of Thor!

"Thor! You DARE come here?" Hela shouted, anger twisting her cold, beautiful features as the Thunderer broke through wreckage of the doors, sprinting toward them, a massive hand reaching out to catch Mjolnir as it returned to him. She began to step forward, but Loki reached out, catching her arms and flying backwards a dozen yards to land in front of the throne as the figure of Thor reached the center of the hall. He stopped, looking at Sirius.

"Are you alright, Sirius?" he said in a deep, commanding voice.

"Yeah," Sirius nodded weakly. "I'm glad you're here…"

"You will pay for this insolence, Thor!" Hela shouted at him, struggling to free herself from Loki's grasp.

"Let _me_ take care of him for you, daughter!" Loki requested, looking at Thor with hate-filled eyes. After a moment, Hela nodded and stopped struggling. Loki released her and walked slowly toward Thor. "It was a mistake for you to come here, Thor! Even _your_ power is no match for mine here in Hela's domain, if she wills it.

"I don't know who you are," Thor said, "nor the woman with you, but I vow, neither of you will be allowed to torture Sirius Black any longer! Release him!"

Loki sneered contemptuously. "And what," he asked, silkily, "if we refuse?"

"_This_!" Thor roared, and threw his hammer at the trickster. But Loki nimbly dodged it at the last moment, and the hammer slammed into Hela's throne, demolishing it. The hammer then flew back into Thor's hand.

"Dolt!" Hela screamed. "You _dare_ desecrate my throne hall and vandalize my things! You will pay dearly for this, Thunderer!"

"You will not prevail, Hela!" Thor shouted, gesturing threateningly with the hammer. "Nothing will stop me from rescuing Sirius!"

Hanging from the pole he was nailed to, Sirius shouted, "Then less talking and more rescuing! Get me down from here!"

Thor gestured with his hammer and both spikes shot from the pole, releasing Sirius, who crumpled into the fire pit, rolling down the pile of wood that had been stacked beneath him. At the same moment, Loki gestured, and an iron bar from one of the walls flew into his hands; he rushed at Thor, bringing the battle to him. Hammer and bar crashed and clanged against one another as Loki attacked with a strength and speed belying his smaller stature. Thor fell back, on the defensive, while Sirius watched anxiously, holding his wounded wrists carefully and wishing he had his wand. With the hammer, Harry was quick and strong, but he was fighting a cunning and ruthless opponent, Sirius knew. And the woman, who'd had him tortured to find out the secret he'd kept from her, was watching the battle keenly, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Finally, Thor saw an opening and struck, but Loki blocked the hammer with his bar. Thor pressed down, both hands on Mjolnir's handle, until Loki was almost forced over backwards. But he suddenly turned Mjolnir aside, striking Thor hard in the stomach with the bar and causing him to drop the hammer. Loki pressed his advantage, striking Thor several times about the head and shoulders with bar, bending it with the force of the blows, until finally the Thunderer fell to his knees.

Loki raised the bar, but spoke. "Yield to me, Thunderer! I have defeated you!"

"Never!" Thor shouted "You will have to kill me before I give up Sirius!"

"NO!" Sirius shouted. "You can't do it, Harry — it's not worth it! Leave me here, if that's what they want, and get away!"

"'_Harry'_?" Hela looked up sharply. "What did you call Thor that?"

Sirius glared at her but said nothing, furious with himself for his slip. But the Queen of Hel was already remembering their earlier conversation. "Ah! Harry Potter! He's your godson, you said… could it be _that's_ your secret — Thor is actually Harry Potter?"

"I — misspoke," Sirius quickly replied, getting painfully to his feet. He was a mess — his hands were nearly useless from the wounds in his wrists, and nearly every inch of his body was bruised or torn from the whippings he'd endured.

"Hardly," Loki sneered. He turned to Hela. "Brilliantly deduced, my daughter! I think we have Black's secret at last! Thor is using the identity of Harry Potter!"

But Hela herself looked skeptical. "But that's absurd! Thor went missing from Asgard over three decades ago! This mortal called Harry Potter a boy — he could not possibly be old enough to be Thor as well!"

"Hey," Thor said, looking a bit nettled. "You're talking about me like I'm not even here!"

Loki glanced at him disdainfully. "Begone, then…" with a casual gesture from him the Thunderer suddenly vanished. Sirius looked stricken at his disappearance, then confused.

"He was never really here, Black," Loki explained to the mortal. "I conjured an image of Thor that would seem to attack us, then defeated him in order to trick you into revealing who he was."

"And now that you've done so," Hela added, her tone imperious, "we have no more use for your existence here." She raised a hand, preparing to strike Sirius down.

"Wait, daughter," Loki held up a hand to forestall her fatal gesture. "Perchance Black can be of use to us. Once his godson learns where he is, he will attempt to rescue him. We can use that to set a trap for him when he comes here looking for Black."

Hela seemed unimpressed at this idea, however. "Why would I care for the soul of some underage wizard? I want _Thor_ dragged down into Hel, not Harry Potter!"

"Harry Potter has made a bargain with Odin to find Thor," Loki replied. "Lost on Earth, as you pointed out earlier, for over three decades. Once Potter finds him, we can make our move — you would have both Potter and Thor in Hel, and I would have the power of Mjolnir!"

"_We_ would have the power of Mjonir," Hela corrected him. Loki inclined his head in respect, already plotting how he might win the Hammer away from his daughter.

Hela, meanwhile, turned back to Black, still barely standing, who was listening to the conversation with growing horror. Was there no way for him to escape this? Would he be used as a mere pawn, luring Harry to this nightmarish world? He would have rushed at Hela, to force her to kill him so they could not use him against Harry, but he could barely stand, much less run.

"I suppose we can take care of those injuries," Hela told him, a bit grudgingly; with a wave of her hand the wounds in his wrists disappeared, and his cuts and bruises all vanished, leaving him whole but woefully weak. With another gesture from Hela, the wood in the fire pit disappeared, replaced by an iron cage with an enormous black lock on the door. At the same moment, Sirius found himself transported inside the cage. "Have a seat," she said, as a wooden bench appeared along one side of the cage. Black looked at, then glared at her, refusing to sit down.

"Suit yourself," Hela shrugged, and returned to her throne, which had returned to normal when the Thor illusion was dispelled. Sirius looked around; the wood that was to be used to burn him had disappeared, but a layer of black ash remained in the bottom of the pit, kicked up whenever he moved around. Slowly, he made his way to the bench and sat down, to minimize the amount of ash his movements were throwing into the air.

On her throne, Hela looked at Loki with annoyance. "If you knew about Potter and Odin's bargain, Loki, why didn't you just tell me?"

"I thought it would be more believable if you heard of the connection from the mortal," Loki replied, keeping his head bowed in respect.

"Feh," Hela waved away the idea. "You might have influenced Black to say whatever you wanted."

"And you are queen here, my daughter," Loki pointed out calmly. "You could easily determine if Black's mind was coerced in any way."

"I already have," Hela nodded. "He is telling the truth as he sees it."

"Then you agree with my plan?" Loki asked, smiling slightly.

"To a point, yes," Hela said. "Once he has found the real Thor on Earth, wherever he is, I will help you lure Harry Potter into a trap, one from which even the power of Thor will not help him escape."

"Excellent," Loki grinned. So far, everything was proceeding according to his plans. Now, while Sirius Black bided time here in Hel with his daughter, he would pay a visit to the Malfoy boy, the one who was being used by the mortal wizard, Voldemort, just as Black was being used by them. For his next trick, he was going to convince Harry Potter to attack the Dark Lord, to rid the world of him once and for all…

**Author's Notes: Q&A from Reviews for Chapter Six and Seven:**

Q: i wanted to ask you how soon are you planning on updating the story because i like it and second what is the pairing?  
A: The update part is easy — now! I try to update every two or three weeks. As for the pairing, I don't decide ahead of time on a pairing — whatever happens in the story between two characters determines things like that.

Q: love the fic - yet harry seems somewhat of an idiot and a a tad immature…  
A: One might say that of Harry in general in the canon novels. He was about as surly as an average teenager in the fifth book, and he was pretty pigheaded in the sixth, especially regarding advice from Hermione. Now, in _this_ fanfic he's been given a weapon more powerful than even the Elder Wand, the Invisibility Cloak, and the Resurrection Ring all together! No telling how much worse he'll get before he gets better!

Q: Um, the luggage is taken for them from the train and placed in the dorm …  
A: Yeah, I exercised a little literary license there — Draco was using his trunk as a diversion, to catch Harry off-guard. I also altered the part in chapter seven where Harry checks for his luggage — originally Ron and Hermione took it off the train; now, it simply says it's no longer on the train. Nice catch!

Q: I think i know who donald is… I wonder if Joe (the Squib) is somehow Donald Blake.  
A: Crikey, is it _that_ obvious —! I decided not to keep readers in suspense about that. The question is, how will Harry find out, and how long will it take him to do so?


	9. The Executioner

**Harry Thunderer and the Uru Hammer**  
**Chapter Nine**

**"The Executioner"**  
_Updated 17 September 2010_

The Fat Lady's portrait swung away from the hole, permitting Harry, Ron and Hermione to climb past her and into the Gryffindor common room. Their first Potions class with Professor Slughorn was over, and though Harry had won the coveted bottle of Felix Felicis, offered by Slughorn to the student that produced the best Draught of Living Death potion by the end of class, he was not smiling.

"I'm telling you, Hermione," he was saying, speaking in a low voice so the entire common room wouldn't try to listen in, "I know Malfoy's got the Dark Mark on him. He's working for Voldemort!"

Ron winced, but Hermione only shook her head in disagreement. "We were all checked for Dark magic when we got to the front gates, Harry — Filch used a golden wand on us as we walked past him." She settled into a chair at an empty table; Harry sat down next to her, and Ron took a third chair on her other side, after chasing away a fourth-year who was trying to hide in a large, plush chair sitting nearby.

"But _I _didn't get checked," Harry said, dropping his rucksack on the floor next to his chair. "And neither did Malfoy, I'd bet — we were both late to the Feast."

"Hmm," Hermione didn't look pleased — that bit of information was a hole in her argument. "But still," she went on, after a moment, "that doesn't prove anything one way or another; the Dark Mark may not be detectable by the sensors, and a wizard need not submit to a physical search of his person; it's been a law since…"

"Since You-Know-Who was in power, back in the seventies," Ron put in, quietly, and both Harry and Hermione looked at him in surprise. "Dad told me that a few years ago," he said, with a shrug. "They've tried to get it removed but the Wizengamot still can't get the two-thirds majority it needs to repeal it."

"Well, sometimes rules are put into effect for a _reason_," Hermione said, with a glowering look at Harry. "Such as not using cribbed notes to cheat with!"

"Oh give it a rest, Hermione," Ron said, as Harry sighed heavily. "It was just luck that Harry got that copy of the book an' not me. If _I'd_ gotten it I would've given just about _anything_ a go to get a better grade in Potions!"

"But it's not _right_!" Hermione insisted, slapping the table with her palm. As several students looked over at them she shook her head quickly. "Sorry," she said, "just discussing a homework problem."

Harry gave her a level look as the other students turned away. "What would you have said," he asked softly, "if I'd followed those instructions and they'd turned out all wrong, and you won the Felix Felicis? He almost picked your potion before he saw mine. You'd be gloating right now, wouldn't you?"

"Yes — I mean, _no_!" Hermione hissed, shaking her head so hard her brown hair whipped around her face. Harry smirked, and she looked at him in exasperation. "Harry, it's not about who would've won, it's about not cheating!"

"How could he know that what was added was right _or_ wrong," Ron pointed out, "unless he tried it one way or another? You were using the book's method, and you got an 'O' on your Potions O.W.L.! It seems like all Harry did was take a chance that worked out!"

"Ron, you're missing the point…"

Harry stopped listening to his friends argue. He reached into a pocket, pulling out a scrap of parchment that he'd received just a few minutes ago, asking him to report to Dumbledore's office that Saturday evening at 8 p.m. He smiled once again, enjoying the idea of showing it to Snape, to prove that he couldn't take detention this Saturday. Snape would likely only postpone his punishment, but it would be worth it to see his look of dour disappointment.

One thing Harry wasn't too sure about was what Dumbledore would want of him in these "private lessons," as he'd called them. Dumbledore was one of only two people at the school who knew that he now possessed the hammer Mjolnir, the Hammer of Thor the Thunderer. Harry had been going over its powers and abilities in his head, knowledge that had imparted to him directly from Odin himself, and he was sure that the Hammer could destroy Voldemort effortlessly, if he decided to use it against him.

Harry had learned only yesterday that one other person at the school also knew about the Hammer, and that was Draco Malfoy, who had put a Full Body Bind spell on Harry and tried to take his wand away from him. Luckily, he'd been unable to remove it from Harry's stiffened hand, and when he tried to break the wand it had stuck against the floor, changing Harry into Thor.

What Harry now had to assume was that the worst was true — if Malfoy knew about the Hammer, Voldemort did as well. Whatever Malfoy and Voldemort had been doing over the summer holidays, they'd somehow figured it out. It didn't matter whether Malfoy and his goons had tortured it out of Neville Longbottom or not, though Harry had exacted a small revenge against Malfoy for that torture, and for his own nose, which Malfoy had stomped on and broken before trying to break his wand.

All this eventually tied back to two men — Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, who'd passed through the Veil in the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries, and Donald Blake, the human disguise of Thor on Earth, who had been lost for over thirty years. Sirius had been gone less than three months, but wherever he'd gone, Harry needed help finding him. No one else — not Dumbledore, or Lupin, or even Ron and Hermione, believed Sirius was still alive. But Harry believed it, and by finding Donald Blake here on Earth he would get the All-Father's assistance in finding Sirius.

"Harry, what are you thinking about?" Hermione's voice brought Harry back to the present.

"N-nothing," Harry shook his head. He'd been thinking about telling her and Ron about the Hammer. Considering how many people knew about it already — Dumbledore, Lupin, Neville, Malfoy, now Tonks, who'd watched his altercation with Malfoy from beneath an Invisibility Cloak, and probably Voldemort as well, at least — it wasn't that much of a secret! Still, this wasn't the proper moment; there were too many potential ears listening in on his conversations, and Harry expected such news would cause them both to react strongly. "I — I was just thinking about poor Elphias Doge," Harry said, as an excuse to cover his distracted behavior.

"Yes, that was a shame," she nodded. "I meant to ask you a question about that," she continued, giving him a shrewd look. "You asked Mr. Doge about a man named Donald Blake. I never got a chance to ask you — just what does he have to do with Sirius Black? You mentioned him when we were talking to Doge with the coins but I never got around to asking who he was until now."

"Er —" Harry didn't want to get into anything about either Sirius or Blake right now — it was clear Hermione and Ron were convinced that Sirius hadn't survived his trip through the Veil. What made Harry feel that he _had_, though he couldn't say for certain at the moment, was that Odin, who seemed to know a lot about the afterlife, hadn't outright dismissed the idea that Sirius was still alive. For now, to placate Hermione, he just shrugged and muttered, "Blake may be able to help lead me to Sirius."

Hermione and Ron glanced at each other, and Harry was immediately annoyed that they had obviously discussed it privately amongst themselves. If _that_ was going to be their attitude, why _should_ he tell them anything about his powers? Maybe enough people knew already — it was bad enough _Malfoy_ was walking around with that secret! "Harry," Hermione was saying, though he was paying scant attention, so wrapped up in his frustration in his best friends' lack of belief in him, "I know it's been really difficult for your, losing your godfather, but you're going to have to get past that…"

Harry, by now used to Hermione's lectures on how she thought he and Ron ought to act, nodded and seemed to listen as she droned on about taking responsibility for one's mental well-being, and learning to cope with loss. But his mind was elsewhere, sparked by the thought of Malfoy. He wanted words with the Slytherin, to convince him to speak to Dumbledore about the threats made against Malfoy's family, unless he delivered Mjolnir. Harry glanced around; the other students in the common room were giving this table a wide berth — Ron had shot several underclassmen warning looks when they seemed to be moving too near the table where they were sitting. It seemed like a good opportunity to find out where Malfoy was. He reached into his rucksack, rummaging around for the folded piece of parchment that was the Marauder's Map.

"Harry, have you been listening to what I've been saying?" Hermione looked irritated that Harry had suddenly turned away from her to pull what she thought was schoolwork out of his backpack. "You don't expect us to believe you want to get any schoolwork done, do you?"

"No," Harry said, laying the blank piece of parchment on the table in front of him and taking out his wand. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he muttered, tapping the parchment with his wand as Hermione, suddenly perceiving what he was up to, fell silent.

The parchment immediately began to fill in with the drawings of the school and grounds. Ron glanced around, making sure no other students were looking their way, then asked softly, "Who're you looking for, Harry?"

"Malfoy," Harry said, carefully scanning the lower levels and Great Hall for any sign of the Slytherin's name. He didn't notice Hermione and Ron exchange glances once again.

"What do you want with Malfoy, Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice carefully casual.

"I need to have a word," Harry answered distractedly. He wasn't anywhere in the dungeon levels, not even in the Slytherin common room. Maybe Snape's office — but there was no sign of him there, either.

"What d'you need to talk to _that_ slimy git for?" Ron blurted out, then looked around ominously as several students gaped at him. "Go on back to your knitting there," he growled at a third-year who started walking toward them; the boy scampered back to his chair. "So what's up with that?" he asked Harry more quietly. "You aren't going after him for some reason, are you —?"

"No," Harry shook his head. Then, because it made no sense without a reason, he added, "Neville told me that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle gave him some trouble on the trip home from Hogwarts this past summer. I — I wanted to tell Malfoy to lay off."

Ron's expression darkened. "I wondered where Neville had got off to," he remembered. "If I'd known Malfoy had him I'd —!"

"Right," Harry nodded. "Don't worry, I'll tell Malfoy to stay clear — if I can find him…" Harry shook his head in frustration. "Where the hell is he?"

"Maybe he found some way to defeat the Map," Hermione theorized.

"Can't be," Harry declared. "The Map showed Peter Pettigrew to Professor Lupin after he confiscated it from me in third year, even though Pettigrew was disguised as Scabbers. That's how he knew Peter was still alive."

"I remember." Hermione was frowning, as she usually did when she had a problem she couldn't puzzle out the solution to. "Then he must be outside Hogwarts, where the Map wouldn't show him."

"He can't have left Hogwarts, could he?" Ron asked. "Even a prefect can't leave the grounds without permission —"

"Like Malfoy would ask for permission," Harry growled, almost to himself. Could he have snuck out, somehow — perhaps through one of the secret passages? But no — they were supposed to be closed up now due to the new security measures put in place after Voldemort's return. Even the passage beneath the Whomping Willow leading to the Shrieking Shack was likely closed by now.

"There!" Ron suddenly pointed, and Harry's eyes locked on a dot moving along a seventh floor corridor labeled _Draco Malfoy_. "Bloody hell — what's he doin' up here, on _our_ floor?"

Hermione opened her mouth, about to say something, but saw the look in Harry's eyes and fell silent. Neither Harry nor Ron noticed her change of expression.

"Snooping, most likely," Harry said, with a savage grin. Oh, he'd _love_ to catch Malfoy this far out of bounds, nowhere near a prefects' bathroom or Slytherin-only area! He quickly tapped the Map with his wand, muttering "Mischief managed!" then hurriedly folded it up and stuffed it into his rucksack. "I'm going to go talk to him," he said, getting up and heading toward the portrait hole.

"I'll go with you," Ron said, but Harry waved him off.

"I need to talk to him alone," he said. "I'll only be a few minutes." With that he disappeared through the portrait hole, leaving Hermione and Ron staring at one another, both baffled (each in their own way) by his behavior.

Outside the common room, Harry raced along the corridor toward Malfoy's last known position. He went past the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, his attention focused on where he expected to find Draco. There was a staircase down to the sixth floor around the next corner — Harry had to catch him before he got too far away from it on the sixth floor, or he might claim that he'd never been _on_ the seventh floor, and Harry didn't want to produce the Marauder's Map to show otherwise.

Turning the corner, Harry heard footsteps descending the stairs. He was almost two late! He ran down the staircase two steps at a time, calling out "Malfoy!" to the blond-haired young man ahead of him.

At the bottom of the steps Malfoy stopped, turning and looking up the stairs at Harry's rapid approach. "What do _you_ want?" he asked with a sneering drawl.

Harry came to a halt in front of him at the base of the stairs. "What were you doing up on the seventh floor?"

"Who says I was on the seventh floor?" Malfoy shrugged, almost daring Harry to contradict him.

"I just followed you down the bloody stairs, Malfoy!" Harry answered, angrily. "Answer my question!"

"Go ask somebody who gives a rip about your stupid questions, Potter," Malfoy retorted, waving a hand in dismissal. "Besides, I'm a prefect — I can go where I damn well please, and it's none of your concern!"

That wasn't precisely true, Harry knew, from discussions about prefect duty with Hermione and Ron. "Don't play dumber than you already are, Malfoy," Harry sneered at him. "There's no prefects' bathroom on seventh floor — if you caught Ron or Hermione sneaking around the dungeon level you'd report them to Snape in a heartbeat!"

Malfoy shrugged. "Since you know I'm a prefect, then, you'd better watch your step, Potter, or I'll deduct points from you for cheek." He shook his head in annoyance. "I've got better things to do than stand around arguing with _you_." He turned to go, but Harry put a hand on his shoulder.

Malfoy brushed the hand off but turned back toward him. "That's twenty points for striking a prefect, Potter!"

Harry took a step closer so they were standing nearly nose to nose. "If I'm going to lose twenty points for hitting you, Malfoy, I may want to make it worth my while!"

Malfoy's eyes widened for a moment, and Harry grinned as he stared at the tip of the Slytherin's nose — it was as straight as ever, even after Harry had broken it, thanks to Tonks mending it. But then Malfoy's expression hardened again. "Big man are you, then? That's the only way you can beat me, you know — you don't have the guts to fight me on your own, do you?"

"You _know_ that's a lie, Draco!" Harry snorted, still nose-to-nose with him. "Besides, look who's talking — you went and became Voldemort's little _bitch_, didn't you?"

Malfoy had blanched at the mention of the name, but now looked furious. "I'm _nobody's_ bitch, Potter!"

"_Aren't_ you, Draco?" Harry laughed. He pointed at Draco's left arm. "You've got the Dark Mark on you, haven't you — the Dark Lord's symbol, marking you as his property?"

In reply Malfoy pushed up his left sleeve, revealing his arm. It was bare, Harry saw — there was no sign of a Dark Mark. Harry looked at the Slytherin's pale skin, dumbfounded. "But — but you were bragging to Crabbe and Goyle that —"

"That the Dark Lord might have a use for me?" Malfoy pulled his sleeve back down over his arm. "I can't believe _you_ don't know how to exaggerate your importance, Potter, with so many people fawning over you!"

"You — were lying," Harry said, slowly.

"Oooh, _brilliant_ deduction," Malfoy sneered. "If I'd _really_ had the Dark Mark, Potter, you never would have left the Hogwarts Express alive, hammer or no hammer!"

Harry's expression darkened. "You'd better be thankful I don't like killing, because that sounded an awful lot like a threat to me, Malfoy."

"So?" Malfoy sneered, then laughed at Harry glowered at him. "What're you going to do, go tell your precious Dumbledore that I _threatened_ you? Does _he_ know about that hammer you're carrying around?"

"You did more than threatened Neville," Harry snarled, taking a step toward him. Malfoy tensed, but did not flinch away. "You, Crabbe and Goyle tortured him on the Hogwarts Express, on the trip back to London!"

Malfoy gave him a scathing look. "Aww, did ickle Longbottom go cwying to big, bad, Hawwy Potty?" he said, in a mocking singsong voice that reminded Harry of Bellatrix's taunts that night in the Ministry, when he chased her to the Atrium as Thor.

"Watch it, Malfoy!" Harry said, loudly, no longer caring if anyone heard them or not. "You're pushing too hard —"

Malfoy was thoroughly enjoying Harry's (seeming) impotent rage. "So what're you going to do about it, then? Pull out your big, bad hammer and beat me up again? You haven't got the guts for a fair fight, do you, Potter? DO YOU?"

When Harry didn't respond, Malfoy leaned forward, poking him in the chest with a fingertip. "You're a nothing, Potter! Just a half-blood nobody, born from an arrogant bully and a Mudblood —"

It was too much. Harry's fist shot out, unbidden, smacking into Malfoy's jaw. Malfoy staggered back a step, more surprised than stunned by Harry's blow, then his face twisted with rage as he went for his wand. "You —" the Slytherin shouted. "_Stupe_—!"

They were standing so close Harry didn't even bother reaching for his wand. His left hand shot out, grabbing and jerking Malfoy's wand from his hand as his right connected again with Malfoy's jaw, knocking him to the floor.

Shocked, Draco looked up, one hand covering his face where Harry had hit him. Harry looked down at him, trying to control the rage he felt at Malfoy's insults. Finally, he spoke.

"You, and I," he said, slowly, "are going to have words about what you're doing for Voldemort, Malfoy. If you've got some idea about getting the Hammer away from me, you'd better put it out of your mind — it's not gonna happen.

"You'd better think about what side you want to be on when things stop going Voldemort's way. Things like this —" he went on, pointing Malfoy's wand at him for emphasis "— aren't going to be much help against Mjolnir, when I come for him. You tell him that — tell him that when _Thor_ comes for him, nothing on Earth is going to help him. You don't want to be between me and Voldemort when that happens." Harry turned away, tossing Draco's wand far down the corridor, then walked back up the staircase to the seventh floor and back to the Gryffindor common room.

Draco remained still until he no longer heard Harry's footsteps from the floor above him. He finally stood, his body trembling with rage and frustration. _He's going to pay for that_, Draco seethed, _if it's the last thing I do_! Wiping blood trickling from his lip, Draco walked down the corridor to retrieve his wand, then ran down to the dungeons to plot his revenge.

=ooo=

The bell marking the end of Transfigurations class rang. Students quickly gathered up their books and other belongings as Professor McGonagall reminded them of their next reading assignment. Harry had gathered up all of his things when she caught his eye and gestured for him to approach. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, who nodded and headed toward the door.

"Yes, Professor?" Harry asked, approaching her as the last student exited the classroom. McGonagall was giving him (for her) an odd look — it was not the usual stern yet tolerant expression she normally wore.

"Potter, I just wanted to let you know…you've done…well in class so far," McGonagall said. Her tone sounded tentative to Harry, as if she were choosing her words carefully.

"Thanks," he replied, wondering what else was going on. _Who are you and what have you done with Professor McGonagall_, was what he felt like saying, but Harry decided any attempt at humor wouldn't be prudent at the moment. He would just have to let this play out however the professor wanted it to.

"Uh, is there anything else?" he finally asked, when she remained silent.

McGonagall blinked. "Yes, there is," she said, picking up a couple of small parchment scrolls from the desk in front of her. "I have the list of students who wish to try out for Quidditch this year, and the schedule for the games this year." She handed both of the scrolls to him. Harry scanned the list of student names, recognizing several of them: Katie Bell, Jack Sloper, Andrew Kirke, all of whom had been on the team before, as had Ron and Ginny Weasley; they were both on the list as well. Even Dean Thomas had signed up — his name was directly below Ginny's on the signup sheet. Evidently they had signed up together, Harry thought, scowling slightly.

There were a few names on the sheet he wasn't familiar with. Cormac McLaggen, who'd written "7th year" after his name on the signup sheet for some reason, as well as Demelza Robins, Ritchie Coote, and several other, younger Gryffindors. "Thank you, Professor," Harry said, rolling up the parchment again and putting the scrolls in one of his robe pockets. "I'll set up tryouts for this Saturday." He turned to leave.

"One more thing," McGonagall interjected, and Harry stopped, turning back to her. The professor wasn't looking at him, however; instead, she was staring at something on her desk — very unlike her usual brisk, businesslike self. "I have a question to ask you, Harry —" (_uh oh_, Harry noted the use of his first name, a rarity from McGonagall — this couldn't be a good sign) "— about…Draco Malfoy."

"Oh?" Harry's voice was cold. Of all the students for her to ask about, why Malfoy? "What about him?"

"He has seemed rather distracted these past several days," McGonagall explained. "He's been very quiet in classes this week — Professor Snape has noticed this as well, and commented on it in staff meetings." An expression of loathing had flickered momentarily across Harry's face at the mention of Snape. If McGonagall noticed his look, however, she made no mention of it. "Do you have any idea what, if anything, might have happened to him?"

Harry wondered if Tonks had said anything to Order members about him and Malfoy both being on the Hogwarts Express after the other students had left the train. There was no way to find out, of course. So when in doubt, be evasive. "It sounds like a change for the better, if you ask me, Professor," he replied.

McGonagall's lips set in a thin line. "Regardless of that," she retorted, sounding more like her usual self, "do you know of any reason why he should be acting so strangely?"

_Because he's working for Voldemort_, Harry wanted to say, though he knew better than make such accusations now. McGonagall would demand proof, and Harry wasn't prepared to offer up any evidence that he wanted made public. "No idea," he shrugged.

McGonagall gave him an appraising look. "I understand," she said, nodding slightly, and Harry wondered just how much she really _did_ know. Too bad he couldn't use Mjolnir to read her mind right now! "I also understand," McGonagall went on, "that you have an appointment with Professor Dumbledore tomorrow night, for a 'private lesson,' I believe he said. It is rare," she pointed out, "for any student to be singled out by the Headmaster of the school for private instruction — a distinction not to be taken lightly."

She looked at him once again, that strange look returning to her eyes, and Harry tensed involuntarily, wondering what she would ask next. "Do you know," she asked quietly, "what happened to the Headmaster's right hand?"

Harry shook his head, surprised at the question, and McGonagall nodded distractedly. "He would not tell me either," she said, more to herself than to Harry. "I fear it is something he…" she stopped speaking, shaking her head slightly. "Sorry, Potter," she said, her usual demeanor returning at last. "Never mind what I was saying — it's not important."

"Hermione thought it must be some kind of curse," Harry offered, realizing at last that McGonagall had hoped Dumbledore had confided in him. "It happened some time between when Professor Dumbledore visited them at the Burrow and when he picked me of a few days later from Privet Drive. He told me on the way to talk to Horace Slughorn it was a thrilling tale, and wanted to do it justice."

"_Professor_ Slughorn, Potter," McGonagall said automatically, then gave him a cool look. "For that matter, there's the question of where _you_ were for several weeks after that business in the Ministry. Do you want to shed any light on that matter?"

Harry, not wanting to say anything, tried to look ashamed rather than stubborn as he studied a corner of the Professor's desk, wondering whether Dumbledore might have told her anything about what he'd been up to. He rather doubted it; McGonagall was definitely back to normal, he thought, if she was trying to catch him in a lie!

"Very well," the Transfiguration teacher went on, when Harry didn't answer. "When you hold Quidditch tryouts, remember to get me the names of your team members, and any alternates you choose to designate. That's all." Harry nodded and made a hasty retreat from the classroom.

Ron and Hermione were still waiting for him outside, as classes were now over for the week. "So what did McGonagall want?" Ron asked as Harry fell into step with them on their way to the Gryffindor common room.

Harry pulled the parchment scrolls out of his robe. "I've got the Quidditch tryout list," he said.

Ron suddenly looked at bit nervous. "Oh, really?" he said, a bit shrilly. "When are you holding tryouts?"

"Probably this Saturday," Harry shrugged. "That's what I told McGonagall."

"Isn't that a bit soon?" Ron suggested. "I mean, you might want to give people some time to prepare for it," he added, quickly.

"Preparing for _what_, exactly?" Hermione put in, teasingly. "Flying around and throwing balls at one another? How much preparation do you need for _that_?"

Ron looked at her, outraged, but Hermione giggled and said, "Oh, Ron! I'm only teasing you!"

"Giving me a bloody heart attack is what you're doing," Ron grumbled, but chuckled a bit as well. He looked back at Harry. "What do you think?"

Harry had cottoned onto Ron's nervousness about making the team. "I suppose I can put up it off to the following Saturday… Just as well," he added. "I've got to go see Professor Dumbledore tomorrow night — it might be too much trying to organize Quidditch tryouts by tomorrow, and I don't want to be overly tired when I go see him anyway."

Ron nodded sagely, agreeing with Harry's decision and breathing an unconscious sigh of relief.

"Oh, that's right! Your first lesson is tomorrow!" Hermione said excitedly. "What do you think Professor Dumbledore is going to teach you?"

"No idea," Harry replied, honestly. He really had no idea what he should expect. The more he thought about it, however, the more pointless such an exercise seemed to be. Dumbledore teaching him advanced defensive spells seemed pointless now, when he could command Mjolnir to perform just about any kind of spell he needed. Was he going to explain what happened to his hand? If Hermione was right, and it was the result of some kind of curse, then _who_ had cursed Dumbledore, and why? Could Mjolnir protect Harry from such a curse, if it was something Voldemort had done?

They were suddenly at the entrance to the common room — the Fat Lady was waiting for them to give the password. "Jam tart," Hermione said, and the Fat Lady nodded, swinging aside to let them enter.

"Wait a minute," Harry suddenly said. "I want to check something."

"What?" Ron asked, but Harry had bolted back down the corridor they'd just come from. "Harry — wait!" Ron called, running after him.

"_Now_ what?" Hermione asked herself, following them with a "Sorry, sorry!" tossed over her shoulder at the Fat Lady, who shook her head in annoyance as her portrait frame swung slowly back into place.

Harry ran down several corridors, glancing left and right as he went. He'd paid scant attention to the corridors on this level, precisely because they'd never attended a class on the seventh floor of the castle. Now, wanting to find an unused room — he might've gone to the Room of Requirement, he realized, but he'd started off in a different direction, and it was several corridors away. Behind him he could hear Ron calling for him to wait up.

After several more fruitless turns past bare corridor walls, Harry was nearly ready to retrace his steps, when he came upon a classroom door. "This way!" he called to Ron and Hermione, whose footsteps he could hear hurrying along an adjacent hallway. They appeared a few moments later, and the three of them entered the room, which turned out to be an unused classroom, with only a few dust-covered desks and chairs. Harry stepped over to the nearest desk, rummaging in his rucksack for the Marauder's Map.

"Malfoy again?" Hermione asked, archly. For the past several days, ever since he'd left the Gryffindor common room at the beginning of the week to confront Malfoy about wandering around the seventh floor, Harry had been checking the Map nearly every spare moment he had to find the Slytherin. More often than not during the week, it seemed, Malfoy had not shown up on the Map — continuing to be a strange and frustrating experience to Harry.

"You've got to admit," Ron pointed out, "it's pretty weird how he's just — _not_ _there_ — sometimes."

"But there has to be a logical explanation for it," Hermione replied. It had been her constant refrain for the past week, though she hadn't actually come up with one yet.

"Oh, you _think_?" Harry asked, his tone heavy with sarcasm. He'd found the Map, which had migrated toward the bottom of his rucksack (it was the first time today he'd used the Map, surprisingly, Hermione noted) and was about to set it on one of the dusty desks when Hermione put out a hand, stopping him.

"Hang on," she said, pulling out her wand and pointing it at the desk's surface. "_Tergeo_," she said, and the dust was sucked off the desk, vanishing as it reached the tip of her wand. In a few moments the desktop was free of dust.

"Thanks," Harry said absently, laying the Map on the desk and taking out his own wand. He spoke the activation words once again, then leaned over the Map searching for the label _Draco Malfoy_. But after several minutes of careful looking, the Slytherin's symbol had not turned up. "Damn it!" Harry muttered, frustrated by his lack of understanding what Malfoy was up to, or how he was evading detection by the Map. "He's gone again!"

"Where's he keep getting off to?" Ron asked, equally puzzled.

"I don't know," Harry growled determinedly. "But I'm going to find out!" He tapped the Map once again, muttering "Mischief managed," then folded it up and dropped it back in his rucksack. "Let's get back to the common room. I need to think."

=ooo=

Draco Malfoy sat on a very old, somewhat wobbly stool, staring blankly at the object that should have had his full attention and focus for the past week. The Vanishing Cabinet was to be the answer to all his problems: with it repaired, he could fulfill the two requirements the Dark Lord had set for him: first, the acquisition of Mjolnir, the Hammer of Thor, from Harry Potter, and Potter himself; the Dark Lord had ordered both brought before him. Once Draco figured out how to fix the Cabinet (with or without that fool Borgin's help!) he would ambush Potter, probably with Crabbe and Goyle's help, force him to hand over the Hammer, then use the Vanishing Cabinet to escape to Borgin's shop in Knockturn Alley and from there to Malfoy Manor, where the Dark Lord awaited Potter's presence.

There was also the matter of the _other_ requirement, Draco recalled, but with Mjolnir his to command, it had become much less of a priority. _Let the Dark Lord commit his own murders_, Malfoy decided. _With Mjolnir, _I _can become the new Dark Lord_! That was a heady thought! He was almost surprised Potter hadn't done something similar already, though he'd already made threats about going after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named during their last "meeting."

Malfoy touched his jaw, which was still somewhat tender where Potter had hit him — twice! — earlier that week. His jaw muscles tightened in anger, causing him more pain and making him even more angry and frustrated. He had come to the Room of Hidden Things, as he had decided to call it, for the past week to work on the Vanishing Cabinet — but inevitably his mind filled with thoughts of revenge, revenge against Potter for the humiliations he'd endured at the Gryffindor's hands. It had overridden all other considerations for this year — his schoolwork was ignored; he'd given Pansy Parkinson the job of making sure his assignments were done on time — the foolish bint seemed besotted with him, so she'd agreed to the task. As for Crabbe and Goyle, they'd been told to make excuses if someone came looking for him. He hadn't told them anything about this room, of course!

Malfoy looked around slowly, surveying the piles of objects surrounding him. When not sitting and staring at the Vanishing Cabinet, he'd taken to wandering up and down the corridors created by all the _stuff_ that had accumulated in this room over the centuries. No doubt, if he took some time, he could find some items of value in here — not everything that had been stored here would be useless junk! Borgin might pay handsomely for some of the items he might find. The Vanishing Cabinet itself was a good example, but obviously Draco couldn't get that out — at least, not until after he'd taken Mjolnir from Potter and figured out how to use it to rule Wizarding Britain.

"Just you wait, Potter," Malfoy muttered. "Wait 'til I get my hands on that Hammer! Then we'll see who has the last laugh!" He gave a short, harsh chuckle.

His laughter echoed weirdly around the room. Draco stopped, listening to the odd reverberations. The room was much too full of objects to produce echoes like that — long experience in Malfoy Manor and Hogwarts itself had taught him that. Momentarily distracted, Malfoy slowly surveyed the room, wondering what had happened. There seemed to be a subtle breeze flowing through the room — Draco felt a chill against his skin, along with the ghost of a noise that sounded something like — whispering.

"Is someone there?" Draco asked aloud. "Show yourself! I'm n-not afraid of you!" There was no reply; Malfoy stood, looking around to see if anyone (or any_thing_) in sight was moving that shouldn't be. He could see nothing. Maybe his natural caution was getting the best of him — he might be imagining things.

Just as he was about to give up and go back to staring at the Vanishing Cabinet, a voice seemed to reach his ears: "Draco Malfoy." It was hardly more than a whisper in the air around him. Draco jerked, looking around quickly for the source of the sound.

"Who's there?" he asked once again, a tremor now in his voice. "Why can't I see you? Show yourself!"

"You require vengeance against your enemy?" the voice whispered.

_Whoever this was_, Draco thought, _he must know something about why I'm here_. Could it be Potter himself, baiting him? "Show yourself!" Draco repeated, loudly. "I want to see you face-to-face!"

"Look around you, Draco," the voice replied. It had increased in volume to a low murmur. "Are you not in a room that can give you anything you require?"

"I don't know about that," Draco said, in a rare moment of honesty. "To me, this is a room filled with things hidden at Hogwarts over the centuries."

"The house-elves call me the 'Come and Go Room,'" the voice told him. "I am also called the 'Room of Requirement.' If you require something strongly enough, and know how to call me, I appear. That is why you found the cabinet you were seeking, once you looked here. You wish to repair it, do you not?"

"Something like that," Draco admitted, though hedging his reply. "Can you tell me how to fix it?"

"No," the voice replied. "I can only make it available to you as it was when it came here. The rest is up to you."

Draco growled in frustration. "Dammit. I'll need to go to the Library then, to see if I can figure that out."

"The books you require are here," the voice said. "You need only find them."

Draco looked at the stacks and piles of books surrounding him, shelves literally filled to the breaking point with old, dusty and tattered tomes. "Great," he snorted. "It'll take me forever to find them!" The room made no reply.

"How do I know," Draco continued, trying to sound shrewd, "that you aren't really Harry Potter trying to trick me?"

"Do you think Harry Potter is that clever?" the room asked, after a moment of silence.

"I think that's something Potter himself would say, if he were trying to trick me," Draco pointed out.

"Then ask me for whatever you require in order to defeat him."

"I require the hammer he has!" Draco said immediately.

"I cannot give you Mjolnir," the voice said, and Draco growled in frustration.

"Some Room of Requirement _you_ are!" he complained. "Why even call yourself that?"

"_But_…" the voice continued, smoothly, "I can give you what you require to take it from him, if you are able…"

"What do you think I require?" Draco asked, his curiosity piqued.

"I can give you the strength and the weapons you need to beat him," the voice answered. "Do you think yourself capable of killing Thor, Draco Malfoy, if I give power equal to his?"

Killing Thor… _and_ Harry Potter. And being given power to equal his. Once he beat Potter/Thor, Draco realized, he could claim the Hammer. Then nobody — not Voldemort, not Dumbledore, not all the wizards in the entire world, could equal such power, if the legends of Mjolnir were true. Slowly, Draco nodded. "Yes, I can!" he said. "I will be his executioner, if you give me power equal to his!"

"Very well," the voice intoned. "Choose a weapon from those around you." Draco looked around, trying to find a weapon suitable for battle against the Thunderer and his Hammer. He disdained any of the swords he saw, as they were all old, chipped or rusty from age. He came upon a spiked mace, but it did not appeal to him. After searching along several corridors, he found a double-edged axe, one edge stained black with dried blood. Malfoy grinned, picking up the weapon and hefting it experimentally, imagining how it would feel when he slammed it into Thor's chest.

"I have my weapon!" Draco said, holding the axe aloft. "I'm ready!"

"Then let the power flow into you!" the voice cried, and the axe, and Draco, began to glow. Brighter and brighter he became, until the entire room itself seemed to glow with his brilliance. There was a blinding flash and Draco was transformed.

No longer was he a tall, skinny blond young man with pale, sharp features. He was now a mature, muscular man, with rugged, chiseled feature beneath a mane of long, flowing white hair. His frame, now over seven feet in height, rippled with bulging muscles. His clothing had changed as well — he was now dressed in silver and black armor, gleaming proudly along his arms, torso and legs.

The axe had transformed as well. It flashed a brilliant silver, no longer stained with blood; the handle was now covered with red leather bindings. Draco stared in wonder at the shining weapon in his hand, then at his hand and arm as well, flexing it to see and feel his muscles bulge. He looked around the room for something he could see himself in. Surely there would be a mirror in here somewhere?

There was. It was very tall, perhaps twice Draco's new height, with a magnificently ornate golden frame, standing on two clawed feet. Anxious to see how he appeared, Draco stepped in front of — and gasped.

The reflection in the mirror showed not only him in his new form, but three bodies lying on the floor behind him. Draco whirled about, staring at the floor, but found nothing there. Uncomprehending, he turned slowly back to face the mirror. The bodies of Thor, Lord Voldemort and Albus Dumbledore lay there, inert and bloody. As Draco watched, the body of Thor metamorphosed into Harry Potter. After several more seconds, all three bodies disappeared, replaced by two people who seemed to walk out of darkness toward him. His mother and father.

Draco started to turn once again, but understood at last they were not really there with him. Was the Room of Requirement giving him a glimpse into his future? His mother and father were both smiling proudly at him, and he was now back in his familiar body once again. His father placed a hand on his shoulder, nodding approvingly, and Draco saw now that there was a medal pinned to the lapel of his robe. Looking closer, he saw it was the Order of Merlin, First Class! Somehow, he knew it had been given for his defeat of Potter and Dumbledore, and for restoring pure-blood wizards as the ruling nobility of the wizarding world.

On his other side, his mother ran a hand lovingly along his arm, and on his other lapel Draco saw the Malfoy family crest, worn only by the family head. His father had made him the head of the family! No doubt for his spectacular victories and achievements, Draco decided. As he continued to stare at the mirror, Draco could see others in the background — indistinct and vague, but there nonetheless: Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, even Zabini, and Astoria Greengrass, a girl a few years below him at Hogwarts, Daphne's younger sister. They were all smiling and calling his name, wanting to be noticed by him. Draco grinned. This is what he would achieve by defeating Potter — he just _knew_ it!

How long he stood before the mirror Draco could not later remember. It might have been hours, or mere moments, but the next thing he knew, the voice was in his ear once again. "Does this meet with your satisfaction, Draco?"

"I think so," Draco said, still staring at the reflection of his new body, which had reappeared in the mirror. "If I'm as strong as Thor, that is."

"Try it," the voice suggested. "Lift something." Draco looked around. Most of the things surrounding him were piles of books and assorted pieces of junk. There was nothing that seemed really heavy…except —

He turned, looking at the Vanishing Cabinet, the reason why he'd come to this room in the first place. It was tall, even taller than Draco was now, and looked quite heavy. Setting his axe on a nearby stack of books, Draco took hold of either side of the Cabinet and lifted. The Cabinet seemed as light as a book — he had no problem lifting it over his head. Smiling hugely, he set the Cabinet back on the floor. "Excellent!" he said exultantly. "Room! You've done it! I must be as strong as Thor!"

"You are," the voice agreed. "And your axe is capable of cutting through anything except Mjolnir itself. You now have the power — the rest is up to you, Draco."

"Yeah," Draco nodded, then thought of one other thing. "How do I become normal again?"

"Strike the handle of the axe against the floor, that will turn you and your weapon back to your normal state. To regain your power, repeat the gesture."

Draco dropped to one knee, striking the handle of his weapon against the floor. There was another blinding flash of light, and a young, blond man stood once again, regarding the old, stained axe he now held. It was not as big or as formidable as the weapon in its "executioner" form, but it was still a bit unwieldy to carry around. He could not chance carrying it around outside the Room of Requirement, Draco decided. Moving over to the Vanishing Cabinet, Draco reached up and slipped the axe on top of it, leaving just enough of the handle sticking out that he could reach up and grab it.

"I'll be back soon," he told the Room, "to practice with it. I want to be sure I know what I'm doing when I take on Thor."

"A prudent decision," the Room agreed. "He will be a formidable opponent."

"So will I," Draco replied, then strode toward the door and exited the room.

The room was silent for several moments, then a golden-haired man appeared, wearing fine robes and a wreath of mistletoe, next to the Vanishing Cabinet. He reached out, running a hand along its dark, polished wooden doors, smiling to himself. _So simple_, he thought, and chuckled at his own cleverness.

"'What fools these mortals be,'" Loki quoted, though in fact he had said those words before Shakespeare ever wrote them down. His plan was progressing quite nice, he thought — the foolish Malfoy boy was now primed to battle Harry Potter, and though Loki was pretty sure who the winner of that battle would be, either way he would come out ahead. If Malfoy won then Potter would be dead and the Hammer would be lost to Asgard without the real Thor around to wield it — Malfoy was blind to the fact that he would never be worthy enough to lift it.

And if Potter won, Loki reflected, walking idly around the Vanishing Cabinet, then he would be led by Malfoy, whom he would likely spare, to his Dark master, who'd hidden himself away in the Malfoy family's home, cowering in humiliation despite his boasts of "returning" from the death-like state he'd endured for so long. Either way, it would be an interesting battle…

Loki suddenly stopped, sagging against a dusty, wobbly desk. He had imparted a significant fraction of his power to the Malfoy boy in order to make him a near-match for Thor. Even so, he could not make him Thor's _equal _— that would require the Odin Force, which no being except Odin himself could wield, while he was ruler of Asgard. Even so, it was Loki's ambition to one day possess it, which only he or Thor, as Odin's adopted and natural sons, respectively, could lay claim to.

He had given Malfoy, through the axe, which he had enchanted to mimic a few of Mjolnir's abilities, over twice the strength of a normal Asgardian male, and had imbued the axe with the ability to cut through nearly any substance, though he could not make it as strong or as powerful as the mystical uru metal that Thor's hammer was forged from. Malfoy's hate, and the element of surprise, should suffice to give him a momentary edge over Potter. Then, if Loki could trick Potter into striking the Hammer's handle against the ground, returning him to his normal form and the Hammer into its guise as his wand, Malfoy should be able to strike, and Potter could join his godfather Sirius Black in Hela's realm.

Loki smiled a wicked smile. It would be an interesting battle, two teenagers with the power of gods trying to kill one another with mystic weapons of mass destruction, and power beyond their wildest imaginations! What fun! The Trickster faded from view, to rest until Malfoy returned to the room once again and his training could begin.

**Author's Notes: Q&A from Chapter 8 Reviews!**

Q: Just as an aside Loki's daughter was Hel not Hela.  
A: Yes, some versions of Norse mythology give her name as Hel, but I went with the Marvel version since having Hel come from Hel might have been confusing.

Q: I wonder, now that Harry is also a son of Odin, will he get his own abilities or weapon to use in place of the hammer, which eventually will be back with the real Thor... Or will it? I wonder.  
A: We learned in this chapter that Thor and Loki, as the natural and adopted sons of Odin, respectively, can one day claim the Odin Force for themselves. Harry is also an adopted son of Odin now, something Loki does not know about yet — his reasons for getting rid of Harry are mostly to keep him from finding Donald Blake.

Hmm… not many review questions from chapter 8, were there?


	10. Round Two

**Harry Thunderer and the Uru Hammer**

**Chapter Ten  
"Round Two"**

_Updated d Month 2010_

Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the Great Hall Friday morning, the final school day for their second week back at Hogwarts. For Harry, however, the week wouldn't be over until he'd served his detention with Snape — predictably, their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had simply moved his detention back a week when informed that Harry would be taking a private lesson with Professor Dumbledore.

Snape had read Dumbledore's note explaining the situation, then dropped it on the edge of his desk, saying only "Be in my office the following Saturday at eight-thirty p.m." Harry had picked up the note, nodded, and turned and left the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, but with a ghost of a smile twitching his lips. It was worth the detention seeing the sour look on Snape's face — at least Harry _hoped_ it would be worth it.

"Blimey, I'll be glad when this week is over," Ron announced, ladling several spoonfuls of scrambled eggs and kippers onto his breakfast plate. "Even with all our free periods this week we've got more chapters to read and inches to write than I _ever_ remember getting the first two weeks of school!"

"It's going to get worse before it gets better," Hermione reminded him.

"Yeah, thanks for cheering me up, Hermione," Ron said, adding a few sausages to his plate for good measure.

"And we've got Quidditch tryouts tomorrow morning, don't forget," Harry added. Ron suddenly looked rather spare.

"I know," he said, shaking his head. "Don't remind me of _that_, too! I'm so nervous I can hardly eat," he added, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"Harry," Hermione said, as she buttered a piece of toast for herself. "Can you tell us anything else about your meeting with Professor Dumbledore last Saturday?"

"I think we've gone over it about a dozen times, Hermione," Harry shrugged, scooping a couple of fried eggs and sausages onto his plate. "I don't know what else to tell you — we looked at some Pensieve memories of some Ministry person visiting Tom Riddle's grandfather, mother and uncle." He glanced around, seeing that no one had taken a seat close enough to overhear them. "Just remember to keep all of this to yourself — and you too, Ron."

"Yeah, yeah," Ron said, his tone hovering between boredom and irritation. "I remember from the first dozen times you told us."

"Why do you think Professor Dumbledore doesn't want anyone else knowing about this, Harry?" Hermione asked, then answered her own question. "I suppose he wouldn't want any of what you're learning getting back to Voldemort, somehow. _What_, Ron?"

Ron had flinched violently when Hermione spoke the Name. "I wish you wouldn't use that name!" he hissed.

"You don't react nearly that bad when Harry says it!" Hermione pointed out archly.

"I'm _used_ to him saying it!" Ron argued. "Sometimes he even says it in his sleep — gives the other fellows in our dorm a right scare, doesn't it, Harry?"

But Harry's attention had been diverted across the Great Hall as three figures entered the room: Draco Malfoy, accompanied as usual by his goons Crabbe and Goyle. "Harry?" Ron said again, then followed his gaze. "Oh, Malfoy again, is it? Harry, stop _worrying_ about the slimy git, he's not worth it."

Harry said nothing, but Ron didn't know how wrong he was. Malfoy knew something that he hadn't even told Ron and Hermione about yet — that he possessed the hammer Mjolnir, the hammer of Thor the Thunderer. He was also pretty sure that Malfoy had been ordered to get the Hammer away from him, for Voldemort. That part was laughable, of course — Malfoy could never lift the hammer, much less use it. But Harry had to make sure he kept his wand (which was really Mjolnir in disguise) safe from anyone taking it. If it were lost, he would be defenseless against Draco and anyone else who came against him.

Malfoy and his cronies had taken places near the front of the Slytherin House table, forcing a couple of second years to slide down; the places they took were considered high status positions at the Slytherin table, close to the Head table and with a good vantage point to see the entire room. He was chatting with a couple of seventh-year students, two other Quidditch players; they kept glancing Harry and Ron's way, then snickering. So far, today was no different than any other day between Gryffindor and Slytherin — the two Houses loathed one another, and wasted no opportunity to bait or sneer.

There was a sudden fluttering of wings as the morning owl posts arrived. Hermione's copy of the _Daily Prophet_ arrived, as usual, and she began perusing it as she nibbled at her toast.

"Anyone we know dead?" Ron asked, in the calculatedly casual voice he used every day when asking that question.

Hermione shook her head, reading quickly. "No. But there were a few dementor attacks. And the Ministry has made an arrest in the death of Elphias Doge."

"Really?" Harry perked up at that. "Who was it?" he asked, hoping to hear the name "Bellatrix Lestrange" issue from Hermione's lips.

"Stan Shunpike."

"What?" Harry nearly yelped

"Listen," Hermione said, and began reading. "_Stanley Shunpike, conductor of the popular Wizarding conveyance the Knight Bus, has been arrested on suspicion of murder in the death of longtime Ministry employee Elphias Doge. Mr. Shunpike, 21, was taken into custody late last night after a raid on his Clapham home —_"

"He couldn't have done it," Harry declared. "We left him on the Bus only minutes earlier! He was probably halfway across Britain by —"

"A lot can happen in a few minutes, Harry," Hermione pointed out, folding the paper closed and looking at him. "You can't really know what Stan might have done after we left the Bus. And you didn't see who killed Mr. Doge — you were with us in Diagon Alley when it happened!"

But Harry had seen what happened; he'd invoked the power of Mjolnir to show him what had occurred in the Leaky Cauldron while they were gone. It had shown him an image of Draco Malfoy appearing out of thin air, hitting Doge with a Killing Curse, then disappearing before anyone noticed him.

But even _that_ wasn't true, because Harry had used the power of Mjolnir to probe Malfoy's memories during their first confrontation on the Hogwarts Express, when Malfoy used the Body-Bind Curse to incapacitate Harry and accidentally caused his wand to strike the floor, turning him into Thor. But Malfoy had _already known_, somehow, that Harry was Thor!

"It doesn't matter," Harry said, tired of arguing about it. "Stan probably tipped off the fake Death Eaters that attacked us, so his hands aren't clean anyway. What I'm _really_ worried about is Malfoy — he's in on all this, somehow."

Hermione's eyes rolled heavenward for a moment. "Malfoy's like your own, personal Boggart, Harry!" Harry frowned at her, but she went on as if she hadn't noticed. "I don't even know why you're worried about him — we've barely seen him outside of classes these past two weeks."

"That's what's worrying me," Harry told her, keeping his voice low. "He keeps disappearing off the Marauder's Map! There've been hours when I couldn't find him — I've even seen Crabbe and Goyle wandering around the seventh floor looking for him."

Hermione digested this bit of information but said nothing. Ron, who'd just speared the last kipper on the end of his fork, stopped just short of popping it into his mouth. "I been meaning to ask this," he said to Harry. "Just what does Dumbledore expect you to do with the information he's giving you, Harry?" He frowned, remembering something else Harry had told them. "Does he really expect _you_ to kill Y-You-Know-Who?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know, Ron. According to the prophecy, neither he nor I can live while the other survives. And — I am marked as his equal." Harry unconsciously touched his forehead, his voice becoming hard and tight. "He did that when he decided I was the one he had to kill, and my parents along with me."

"Do you really think you can kill him?" Ron looked at him intently. "I mean, you just barely escaped getting killed yourself the last time you saw him, remember?"

Harry didn't reply. The _official_ story of what happened in the Death Chamber during the fight in the Department of Mysteries was that Harry and Neville were rescued by Order of the Phoenix members, during which Bellatrix Lestrange escaped, with Voldemort's help, after killing Sirius Black and after a confrontation with Professor Dumbledore. Hermione, Ginny, Luna and Ron were all incapacitated or unconscious when Harry, in his Thor form, had bolted through the room where they were so fast he was merely a blur to them. He hadn't seen them again until he returned from Norway a few weeks later, after his meeting and journey with Odin, the leader of the Asgardians. Now, trying to find Odin's son, the real Thor, lost somewhere on Earth disguised as the mortal Donald Blake, and find out what had happened to Sirius after he went through the Veil, were uppermost in Harry's mind.

But it would be nice to take care of the Voldemort problem somewhere along the way, if he could work it in! He knew the Dark Lord was using Malfoy, somehow, to try to get to Harry — and especially to get to his hammer, Mjolnir; Malfoy obviously wanted it, and Harry believed that Voldemort was behind that as well. With the power of Mjolnir, however, confronting Voldemort might be more like murder than self-defense.

"For now," Harry told Ron. "I'm just going to keep taking private lessons with Professor Dumbledore, to find out as much as I can about Voldemort. Then, hopefully, I'll know what to do if we meet again."

Ron opened his mouth to ask another question, but before he did he was interrupted by Zacharias Smith, who had come up behind them. "Potter, this is for you," he drawled, handing a scrap of parchment to Harry.

Harry looked at the piece of parchment. "What's this for?"

Smith shrugged. "Read it and find out." Harry unfolded the parchment and stared at the short message scrawled on it.

_Potter —_  
_Meet me at midnight Saturday in  
front of the tapestry on the 7th floor,  
__the one with the idiot teaching trolls  
to dance. We'll settle our differences then.  
__Malfoy_

Harry looked up at Smith. "Malfoy got you running errands for him now, does he?" Harry asked, in a condescending tone.

Smith shrugged again. "He's a prefect — I'm just doing what he asked me to do."

"Good at blindly following orders, then," Harry observed. "That should come in handy for whoever you work for, I suppose." Smith sneered but turned and walked away without retorting. Harry glanced over at the Slytherin Table, seeing Malfoy staring fixedly at him. Slowly, Malfoy let a grin come across his face. The piece of parchment in Harry's hand suddenly burst into flame and vanished, like a piece of flash paper.

"What was that about, Harry?" Hermione asked, with a curious look back and forth between him and the departing Smith.

"Nothing," Harry told her. "Just Malfoy being a prat." Hermione stared at him for several seconds, then shrugged, apparently losing interest, and turned back to her paper. Slowly Harry looked back toward the Slytherin Table, where Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were all leaning together, talking quietly even as they watched to see his reaction.

Harry gave a short nod, his only acknowledgement to Malfoy's note. Whatever Malfoy was planning for this meeting, he decided, he'd be ready for him. Hopefully, Snape would let him out of detention well before midnight that night!

=ooo=

By Saturday evening, Harry had already muddled through one of the busiest days of his life, starting with the Quidditch trials after breakfast. As Hermione had predicted earlier, there was quite a turnout: not only Gryffindor students had shown up to try out, but the stands were also full of students from other Houses, mostly Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, quite a few of them female, to watch the activities. Harry couldn't remember ever seeing so many students at a tryout.

It was complete bedlam for a while, with first-years and non-Gryffindors trying out for positions, and Harry was becoming quite irate by the time an entire group of Hufflepuffs walked onto the pitch for one of his tryout tests. He ordered all non-Gryffindors off the pitch, then set up a number of trials for positions on the team. After over two hours and several tantrums, which included a broken broom and several broken teeth, Harry had his team: veterans Katie Bell and Ginny Weasley, and first-time player Demelza Robins were his Chasers; the selections were unusual in that all three were female. Demelza was a new find this year; Harry had chosen her because of her ability to dodge Bludgers well.

His new Beaters were Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote, who both did passably well, though neither showed the brilliance of Fred and George Weasley. His Keeper, selected after a hard-fought trial between Cormac McLaggen and Ron Weasley, had tipped in Ron's favor after he managed to save all five of his penalty shots compared to McLaggen's four. There was a tense moment when McLaggen, accused the Chaser taking the penalty shots had favored Ron (in fact it was his sister, Ginny), Harry stood his ground, saying that she had played just as hard against Ron as she had with McLaggen. McLaggen looked ready to punch Harry for a moment, but in the end only grimaced and walked off the pitch, growling threats under his breath.

There were also a few surprises of a different nature during and after the trials. Harry noticed that Lavender Brown, one of the Gryffindor girls in his year, kept smiling at Ron and cheering him on during his trials, more so than anyone else there, Hermione included. But when Hermione ran up to Ron to congratulate him after the trials were over, Harry noticed a rather grumpy expression cross Lavender's face as she walked off the field with her friend Parvati.

After the trials, on their way to see Hagrid, Ron mentioned that McLaggen looked as if he'd been Confunded during his last penalty shot, the one he missed badly, and Hermione suddenly turned a shade of deep pink, as if she were having a guilty thought. Ron didn't notice, being caught up in describing his own saves, but Harry made note of that bit of information for further thought.

Hagrid wasn't pleased to see them, initially — they'd been right that he was deeply disappointed that no one in their year had continued with his N.E.W.T.-level Care of Magical Creatures classes. Harry managed to guilt him into talking with them, however, and eventually they learned that the half-giant was terribly worried about his friend Aragog, the giant acromantula that lived in the Forbidden Forest with his hundreds, perhaps thousands of offspring. They made him feel better by lying through their teeth about Professor Grubby-Plank, saying she was a dreadful teacher, and by the time they left his cabin Hagrid was looking quite cheerful once again. As it turned out, the reconciliation with Hagrid was the high point of Harry's day.

"Blimey, I'm starving," Harry said, the moment they were away from Hagrid's door and on their way back to the castle. He'd given up on eating at Hagrid's when his first bite of rock cake had caused some strange sensations in a few of his back teeth. "And I've got Snape's detention tonight," he sighed, glumly. "I haven't got a lot of time to eat." He didn't add that there was another important meeting he planned on going to, afterwards.

He did smile a bit when, as they walked into the Entrance Hall, they saw Cormac McLaggen trying to enter the Great Hall for dinner. It took him two attempts; on his first try he bounced off one of the door frames, shook himself, and barely made it through the opening on the next try. Ron, watching this, laughed and gave Harry and Hermione a gloating smirk, then followed the seventh-year into the Hall. Harry's suspicions about what happened to McLaggen were confirmed, and he caught Hermione's arm before she could follow after Ron.

"If you ask me," he told her in a quiet voice, "I think McLaggen _was_ Confunded this morning. What do you think, Hermione?"

Hermione blushed again. "All right, I did it," she whispered, not looking very penitent. "But you should have heard what he was saying about Ron and Ginny both being on the team, and Ron your best friend! He's not a very nice person at all — you saw how mad he got when you wouldn't let him have another go. You wouldn't have wanted him on the team, anyway."

"That's probably true," Harry agreed. And it was; as far as he was concerned, McLaggen was a braggart and something of a bully. If he hadn't been Confunded he might have actually tried to punch Harry, which would have been quite unfortunate — for McLaggen, as Harry was not in the least afraid of someone his size any more, as big as he was. "But wasn't that a bit dishonest of you?" he went on, looking at her archly. "I mean, you being a prefect and all?"

"Oh, hush," she snapped at him, and he smirked at her in return.

Ron reappeared in the doorway of the Great Hall. "What are you two doing?" he demanded.

"Nothing," they chorused, and hurried along behind Ron as he turned and stalked back into the Hall. But no sooner had they passed through the door than another familiar figure loomed before them: Professor Slughorn.

"Harry!" Slughorn boomed jovially. "Just the man I was hoping to see!" He puffed out his chest importantly. "I'm having a spot of supper tonight in my room, and decided to make it a little party, invite a few of the rising stars of Hogwarts to join me. We've got McLaggen and Zabini coming, and Melinda Bobbin as well — her family owns several large apothecaries — and of course I hope Miss Granger will favor me by coming too."

Slughorn smiled and made a little bow to Hermione as he said this last part, though he did not so much as glance at Ron, who was standing right next to her. Ron was giving the short, stout Potions professor a scowl worthy of Snape himself, but the man seemed quite oblivious to him.

"I can't come, Professor," Harry answered with a shake of his head. "I've got a detention tonight with Professor Snape."

Slughorn looked so disappointed his expression was almost comical. "Oh dear, oh dear," he said, twirling his walrus mustache anxiously. "That won't do! I think I'll go have a word with Severus about this — explain the situation to him." He clapped Harry heartily on the shoulder. "Yes, I'm sure I'll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention! I'll see you both later!" Slughorn turned and hurried out of the Hall, heading toward the dungeons and Snape's office.

Harry watched him hurry away. "Good luck with that," he added, in a sarcastic undertone, and then turned back to Ron and Hermione. "Snape's not going to postpone my detention another week. He did it for Professor Dumbledore, but he wouldn't do it for any other person!" The three of them began walking toward the Gryffindor Table.

"Oh, I wish you could go, Harry!" Hermione said fretfully as they found places at the table. "I don't really want to go alone!" Harry glanced at her; he was pretty sure she was thinking about McLaggen being there as well.

Ron snorted. "Don't worry, Slughorn probably invited Ginny along to boot!"

After dinner, they had enough time for Harry to spend a few minutes in the Gryffindor common room before he had to head off to detention with Snape. The room was crowded but they managed to find a free table; Ron, still in a bad mood, promptly folded his arms, leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, probably thinking ugly thoughts about Slughorn snubbing him earlier. Hermione saw a copy of the _Evening Prophet_ abandoned on the arm of a nearby chair, and she reached out for it. "Anything new?" Harry asked, as she unfolded it, leafing through the pages.

"Not really…" Hermione shook her head, then looked over at Ron. "Oh, your dad's in here, Ron — no, he's okay!" she added hastily, as Ron looked at her in alarm. "It's an article about him visiting the Malfoy home. It says here Mr. Weasley went to search the home due to a confidential tip-off that there may be Dark activity going on there." Hermione looked up at Harry; her eyes had narrowed with suspicion. "You were talking to Mr. Weasley just before the train left, weren't you? Were _you_ the 'confidential tip-off,' Harry?"

"I told him I thought Malfoy was up to something," Harry said, defensively. In fact he had told Mr. Weasley he saw Draco kill Elphias Doge, but he knew now that it hadn't been Malfoy, but someone posing as him. "I still think he's up to something — that's why he's been so scarce for the past two week, I'd bet. He probably brought whatever he's been working on this summer with him to school!"

"But we were all searched —" Hermione began, but cut herself off. "Oh," she said. "You and Malfoy didn't come with the rest of us!"

"Right," Harry nodded, glad she remembered him telling her that. "So we don't know _what_ he might have brought with him, do we?"

"Surely Filch would have searched him by now," Hermione hypothesized. "If he was a Death Eater, as you say, they would have detected the Dark Mark on his arm, with that Secrecy Sensor of his. Even if wizards who've attained their majority have the right of personal privacy, underage wizards don't. I checked."

"Not as if it matters," Harry muttered without thinking. "Malfoy doesn't have the Dark Mark."

Ron and Hermione both raised their eyebrows at this. "Oh?" Hermione said, her interest piqued. "How would you know _that_?"

"Oh, uh —" that question caught Harry flat-footed. "Well, when I caught him sneaking around on the seventh floor last week, I accused him of being Voldemort's property now and having the Dark Mark on him, and he pulled up his left sleeve. There was no Mark on his arm." Which didn't mean much to Harry anyway — Malfoy may not have the Dark Mark on him, but he was still under Voldemort's thumb, somehow.

"The seventh floor? Did you report him to McGonagall?" Hermione asked.

"He'd just gone down some stairs to the sixth floor when I caught him," Harry said. "So he wasn't actually _on_ the seventh floor — but I warned him about being out of bounds."

Hermione didn't look happy at that. "Technically you're not a prefect, Harry — you can't warn a prefect, especially not one like Malfoy! The next time it happens you should let me, Ron or one of the other prefects know about it."

"Right," Harry said, with heavy irony. "I'm sure Malfoy will stand around waiting with his thumb up his arse while I find one of you."

Ron stood suddenly, looking irritable. "Well, since I'm not invited to any parties or a part of this conversation, I think I'll go to bed."

"Ron —" Hermione started to say, sounding both reproachful and sorry they'd ignored him, but he stomped off toward the boys' dormitories, leaving her and Harry staring after him.

Harry was about to get up and go after him when a new voice stopped him. "Harry?" It was Demelza Robins, the new Chaser. "I've got a message for you."

Harry turned to her. "From Professor Slughorn?" he asked, a small ray of hope trying to filter through cloud of the day's events. Had Slughorn managed to convince Snape to let him attend his dinner party?

"No — it's from Professor Snape," she said, and Harry's expression fell. "He said to be in his office at half-past eight, uh, no matter how many party invitations you've received. He also said you'd be sorting out rotten flobberworms from good ones, and that you needn't bring your protective gloves."

"Great," Harry said, his expression turning grim. "Thanks, Demelza. Thanks a lot."

"O-okay," Demelza looked unhappy about giving her new Quidditch captain this news. "Well, I've — I've gotta go. I've got to go to —"

"A party?" Harry asked, sardonically.

"Er, to the Library," she answered. "To find a book on — on— for my Charms essay. See you at practice." She scooted out the portrait hole posthaste.

=ooo=

A few minutes before eight-thirty Harry stood and excused himself to go to detention with Snape, telling Hermione he'd see her tomorrow.

"If you like," Hermione said, thoughtfully, "Ron and I can arrange to be out 'patrolling' the ground floor — we can meet you in the Entrance Hall and escort you back to the common room, if Professor Snape keeps you late."

"Uh —" Harry gave her a surprised look. "No, I'll be fine," he answered hastily. "Thanks for offering, though — I appreciate you thinking of me." His manner, however, told Hermione that he didn't want her around after his detention. And maybe not Ron, either, she realized.

"I just don't want you to get in trouble with Filch," she pressed. "Snape isn't likely to write a note for you, is he?"

"No," Harry agreed, "but I'll have my Invisibility Cloak with me — I'll put it on if it looks like I'm going to get pinched."

_The Invisibility Cloak, eh_? Hermione thought. "Are you bringing the Marauder's Map with you, too?" she asked, trying to sound casual about the question.

"Are you kidding?" Harry arched an eyebrow at her. "I'm not giving Snape a chance to take _that_ away from me!"

Hermione wondered why Harry thought Snape wouldn't take the Cloak away from him, but said nothing. "Well, all right," she said at last. "Just be careful."

Harry smiled at her and left through the portrait hole. Hermione sat for several minutes, analyzing the conversation. It was another instance of Harry being secretive around her and Ron, something he'd been doing ever since he'd returned to the Burrow late one night in mid-July. Even before that, in fact, when he disappeared after the Battle in the Department of Mysteries. She, Ron and Ginny had been worried something terrible had happened to him, but Dumbledore convinced them that he was just off "finding himself" after Sirius's death.

It was true what many of the girls in her year were saying — boys around Harry's age sometimes acted very strangely. Usually it was around girls, and while Hermione saw Harry mostly as the brother she'd never had, he did seem to be showing interest in Cho Chang near the end of their fourth year, even though she was seeing Cedric Diggory. Nothing might have come of that but for Cedric's murder, terrible as it was; Hermione had seen it as a potential opening for Harry with Cho, once she got over the shock of Cedric's death. But this year he had shown no interest in her so far, though Hermione had caught her looking Harry's way several times from the Ravenclaw Table.

Was there somebody else Harry was thinking of? He hadn't acted like a typical teenage boy, riddled with angst over an unrequited love interest. His most obvious problem was his obsession with Sirius somehow being alive, in spite of the fact that _no one_ had ever returned after going through the Veil. Meanwhile, Hermione remembered, her thoughts darkening as she did, that she'd seen Lavender Brown making eyes at Ron several times since they'd returned to school — the girl was practically _throwing_ herself at Ron! It was disgusting. And worse, Ron didn't seem to mind it all that much — Hermione had seen him smile shyly at her more than once in response to her batting her eyelashes at him!

"Oi!" Hermione turned, startled, toward the stairs leading to the boys' dormitories. Ron was standing on the bottom step, looking around the common room. "Is he gone yet?"

"Yes," she said, a trifle crossly; Ron's reactions to Lavender's attentions was still rankling her. "I thought you were going to sleep."

Ron made a _who-cares?_ gesture, then walked up to the table and sat down next to her. "Too early yet," he added. "It's only a quarter 'til nine." He was silent for several seconds; then, "So what were you and Harry talking about earlier?"

"When?"

"Just before dinner. You know, outside the Great Hall."

"Oh." Hermione managed not to blush too much this time. "Nothing — just… Harry made a joke about Cormac McLaggen running into the door, and he didn't want him to overhear."

Ron was snickering again at the memory. "Who cares what that big git hears? You saw how many people wanted to get on the Quidditch team, Hermione — McLaggen is just another loser!"

Hermione sighed; it was another case in point that teenage boys sometimes couldn't see their hands in front of their faces. "Ron, they were all there because of Harry, not for Quidditch. Well — McLaggen was there for the Quidditch," Hermione amended herself. "Boys like him think being stars on the pitch make them poplar."

Ron snorted. "Well, it bleedin' does!" When Hermione frowned at him he put on his own look of exasperation. "Oh come _on_, Hermione! Even Galvin Gudgeon has been seen with a couple of hot-looking witches on his arm, and the Chudley Cannons finish at the bottom of the league every year!"

Hermione bent over and picked up her bookbag. "Well, if you came down to argue Quidditch with me, Ron Weasley, you can just go right back up to sleep!"

"Okay! I'm sorry!" Ron said quickly. "I really came back down to ask you a question."

"What is it?" she snapped, trying to look impatient.

"D'you think Harry is keeping something from us?"

Hermione sat back down in her chair; her bookbag thudded against the floor. "Have you noticed it, too?" she asked, in a half-whisper.

"Well, _yeah_," Ron said, as if it had been patently obvious. "He and I haven't talked about things in weeks, ever since he showed up at the Burrow this summer."

"I thought that, too!" Hermione agreed, fervently.

"And what's he going so hard at Malfoy for?" Ron began warming to the subject. "I mean, all bleedin' summer he was talking about finding Sirius somehow, getting him back from 'beyond the Veil,' when everybody knows that's impossible! Now all of a sudden he closes up about Sirius and starts banging on about Malfoy being a Death Eater! I mean, if I didn't know better I'd say he was cracking up." Ron gave Hermione a worried look. "He's _not_ cracking up, is he?"

"I don't think so," Hermione shook her head. "But he's definitely being secretive these days. For example, I got the impression he's going to do something after his detention with Snape, something he doesn't want us knowing about."

Ron nodded. "I thought that, too." He looked around the common room; it was now just after nine p.m. and most of the students had gone up to their dorm rooms for the night. "I figured we better keep an eye on him." He brought a large piece of folded parchment out from beneath his robes and placed it on the table before them.

Hermione looked at the parchment in astonishment. "That's the Marauder's Map, Ron!" she said, whispering to keep anyone else from hearing. "Didn't Harry have that locked in his trunk?"

"Yeah," Ron grinned. "But if you recall, you mentioned the spell you used to get into his trunk to get his Gringotts key a while back, so I thought I'd have a go with it to see if it worked." He wiggled the blank piece of parchment in front of her. "It did!"

"You shouldn't have done that, Ron," she said severely, shaking her head in disappointment. "We shouldn't be going through Harry's things."

"Yeah, right," he snorted at her. "It's okay when _you_ break into his trunk, then, but not when _I_ do it?"

"That was different!" Hermione argued. "I was doing it to help him out — and your mum said it was at Bill's suggestion and it was okay!"

"So I suppose if I get your mum's permission I can break into _your_ trunk, then?" Ron suggested, with a smirk.

Hermione gave him a weary look. "Why are we even arguing about this? We should be seeing where Harry is on the Map."

"Right," Ron agreed, feeling vindicated. If Hermione changed the subject away from an argument he knew he had the upper hand. He took out his wand and tapped the blank parchment, muttering "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Lines instantly began forming on the parchment, showing a map of the castle and surrounding grounds. They both bent over it, peering closely along the corridors of the lower levels, looking for the dot labeled "Harry Potter."

"Here he is," Ron said after a few moments of searching. "Right where he ought to be, in Snape's office. Snape's there, too." Ron shook his head. "I wonder what old Snape's making him do?"

"Sort flobberworms," Hermione answered. "The new girl on your Quidditch team, Demelza, gave him a message from Snape, that's what he was going to be doing tonight."

"Yuck," Ron said, grimacing.

For then next three hours they sat there, alternatively talking about the "Secretive Harry Problem" and checking the Marauder's Map for his location. The dot with his name remained in Snape's office the entire time, as did the one representing Snape. Ron checked the Slytherin common room from time to time; Malfoy's dot and name moved about that room, along with Crabbe and Goyle's. "They must be having a good time," Ron smirked at one point. "Probably tearing the wings off flies."

"Ron!" Hermione said, sounding reproachful, but she smiled a bit when she thought Ron wasn't looking.

Some time after eleven the portrait hole opened and Ginny and Neville came through, chatting quietly with one another. "How was Professor Slughorn's party?" Hermione asked them.

Neville looked at Ginny, who shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Bit dull — he spent most of the time fretting that Harry wasn't there and that he couldn't understand why Snape wouldn't let him attend. I guess he hasn't heard what a good student-teacher relationship they have," she added, with a grin.

"He sure wasn't making that Zabini bloke happy," Neville said, to be part of the conversation. "Or Belby either, for that matter. And McLaggen looked mad enough to chew nails — _oops_."

The portrait hole had opened once again, and the subject of Neville's last statement had stepped through into the common room. "Why don't you keep your fat mouth shut, Longbottom?" he said in a menacing tone. "Potter doesn't know what he lost when he didn't pick me for the team."

"Oh, he knows, alright," Ginny told him, coldly. "It's pretty obvious what an overbearing git you are, McLaggen."

McLaggen's face turned red, and his hand looked ready to go for his wand. Ron stood, turning to face him. "Don't get any ideas," he said, his voice becoming hard. "Don't forget, I'm a prefect."

"And so am I," Hermione said, standing as well. "It won't look good for you with McGonagall, attacking two prefects, not to mention four members of your own House."

McLaggen relaxed, realizing he was outmatched, then sneered and tried to shrug off his backing down. "As much fun as it'd be hexing all of you, I don't think I'll waste my time. I'm off to bed." He strode away from them, taking several steps before realizing he was walking toward the girl's dormitories. He stopped, glared at them a final time, then hurried up the stairs as Ginny and Ron laughed and Neville let out a small chuckle. Hermione merely sighed in relief.

After a few moments Neville sighed as well. "I guess I'll go to bed, too," he said, then glanced at the parchment on the table between Ron and Hermione. "Hey, what're you looking at?"

Ron had tapped the Marauder's Map with his wand and whispered "Mischief managed," as Ginny and Neville came through the portrait hole — he glanced back at the now-blank piece of parchment. "Oh, just a blank scrap of parchment I had in my trunk." So far as Ron knew, Harry had never shared the Map with anyone but him and Hermione. He wasn't sure if even Ginny knew what it was — Fred and George, his older brothers, had nicked it from Filch's file cabinet their first year, and had given it to Harry in December of his third year. Ron had never heard of it until Harry told him about them giving it to him sometime later.

"It's a pretty big piece," Neville observed, a bit wistfully. "I need a bit for a twelve-inch essay due in Charms next Monday — d'you think you could spare half of it?"

Ron's eyes widened. "Er— no," he said, firmly. "I'm— er, saving this bit for me an' Harry — we're writing papers, too."

"Oh, go on," Ginny said, reaching for the parchment. "I can lend you some later — hey!" Her hand had almost reached to Map when it was suddenly whisked away from her and into Hermione's hand, who was pointing a wand at the table where it had been.

Ginny looked up at Hermione disbelievingly. "What's up with _that_? It's just a stupid piece of parchment, isn't it?"

"If Ron says it's for him and Harry," Hermione said flatly, "then it's for him and Harry."

"Fine," Ginny snorted. "Come on, Neville — I'll get you some of my parchment." She stomped off up the girls' staircase, returning a minute later with several sheets, and thrust them into Neville's hands. Then without a word to anyone, she turned and stalked back up the staircase to her dorm.

Neville looked rather embarrassed by the whole thing; Hermione couldn't help feeling sorry for him, but she couldn't let Ginny accidentally tear the Marauder's Map in two! "Sorry, Neville," she said quietly.

"No, it's okay," Neville said quickly. He gave Ron a confused look. "I'll see you later," he said, then trudged up the steps to his own dormitory.

"Whoa," Ron said, plopping back into his chair and putting away his wand. "Thanks, Hermione! That was close."

"I didn't mean to make Ginny mad," Hermione said, regretfully.

Ron shrugged it off. "She'll get over it — she won't hold a grudge against Harry."

Hermione knew that, of course. In fact, she knew a lot more than Ron did about how Ginny felt about Harry — they'd had several long talks about him over the past few years. Hermione had tried to convince her to tell Harry how she felt, but Ginny didn't want to put pressure on Harry; she wanted him to talk to her about it on his own initiative. But Harry just couldn't see the subtle clues Ginny had been giving him, and last year she'd pretty much given up, turning to other boys like Michael Corner and Dean Thomas for companionship.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's nearly midnight," she said, put the Map back on the table. "Maybe we better check and see if Harry's on his way back here." She tapped the Map with her wand and murmured the phrase to reveal the Map, then she and Ron leaned over it, looking for Harry.

"Not in Snape's office any more," Ron announced a few moments later. "And — nope, Malfoy's not in the Slytherin common room, either." He looked up at Hermione. "What do you think?"

"I think we'd better find him," Hermione said, worriedly. "With those two out roaming the castle this late at night, no good can come of it!" She grabbed the Map and she and Ron ran to the portrait hole and out into the corridor beyond. It would have been nice to have Harry's Invisibility Cloak too, Hermione thought, but Harry had told them Professor Dumbledore suggested he keep it with him at all times now.

"Where d'you think they might be?" Ron said in a low voice as they walked slowly through the seventh floor corridors. "You know," he theorized. "Maybe he went to the prefects' bathroom, to clean off that flobberworm gunk before he came to bed."

Hermione had to admit, that was possible. "I'll feel better when we find him, though, or Malfoy. I have a feeling…" her voice trailed off as she looked closely around the corridors where the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy was located.

"_What_ feeling?" Ron finally asked, after waiting several seconds for her to continue her thought.

"Look," Hermione suddenly said, pointing to the Map. They both saw the dot labeled "Harry Potter" moving along a nearby corridor, toward the corridor containing the tapestry. "He's headed for this corridor," she said quietly, pointing out the corridor with the tapestry to Ron.

"How d'you know _that_?" Ron wanted to know. "Malfoy's not there, is he?"

"No, it doesn't seem so," she admitted, not wanting to say where she thought he might be. If she was right, though, it _could_ mean he was up to something very bad. But even if Malfoy knew where the Room of Requirement was, how would he know how to get into it? Could Marietta Edgecombe have told him? Hermione doubted it — the purple boils on her forehead and cheeks that spelled "SNEAK" would have been far worse had she said more than a few words about the D.A.'s meetings. As it was, Hermione recalled with a small, grim smile, the ones that had covered her face after ratting them out still hadn't quite disappeared yet. "But I'd rather just find Harry and get him back to the common room before he _does_ find Malfoy."

They made their way quietly to the corridor where the tapestry was located. It was dark along this section at this time of night; Ron had taken out his wand and lit it, and was now looking around. "Wait a minute," he said at last. "This is where we came to the D.A. meetings, isn't it?"

"Yes, Ron," Hermione replied, a bit wearily. Malfoy knew about this corridor, of course — he'd caught Harry with a Trip Jinx as he'd tried to make it to a boys' bathroom further along the corridor.

The door to the Room of Requirement wasn't present, but Ron said anxiously, "You don't think Malfoy's in there —?"

"I don't know," she replied, shortly. She held up the Map to look for Harry once again. "Let's see," she said, looking along the corridor drawn on the parchment. "He's probably close by now —"

"I'm right behind you," Harry's voice said, and both Hermione and Ron started and turned around. There was no one there, but a moment later Harry appeared from under his Invisibility Cloak. "What are you two doing here?" he asked, sounding angry. "And what are you doing with _that_?" he pointed to the Marauder's Map. "Did you break into my trunk again?" he said, accusingly, to Hermione.

"I did," Ron said, quickly. "We were watching to see when you were coming back from detention with Snape."

"What difference does _that_ make?" Harry asked, harshly. "I think I can make my way back to the common room on my own, thank you very much!"

"But you _didn't_ go to the common room, did you?" Hermione pointed out, looking around. "You came here, probably to find Malfoy, isn't that right?"

"So what if it is?" Harry answered in a belligerent tone. "Malfoy and I have…things…to discuss. Things that don't concern you!"

"Of _course_ they concern us!" Hermione argued. "We don't want anything to happen to you, Harry!"

"Nothing's going to happen to me," Harry shook his head. He folded up the Invisibility Cloak and stuck it into one of his pockets. "Besides, look around — you don't see Malfoy hereabouts, do you? He must've seen you and decided not to show."

"Or," Hermione suggested, looking at the wall opposite the tapestry. "He's in _there_."

"What, the Room of Requirement?" Harry was silent for several seconds. "Did you see him on the Map, then?"

"No," Hermione replied. "But the Room of Requirement isn't even on the Map. Maybe someone inside it can't be seen on it."

"But it showed Peter Pettigrew even when he was in his Animagus form," Harry objected. "Professor Lupin told me he saw him."

"I wonder why we never saw him on the Map," Ron said; he was still thoroughly disgusted that he'd kept the rat for nearly three years before they realized it was really a man in rat form. "Or why Fred and George never did — they had the Map all that time I was here but never said a word about him!"

"Probably because they never looked for him," Hermione said. "I don't think the Map shows anyone until you look for them — otherwise it would have dots with people's names moving over it all the time."

"Well, why don't we stop guessing, then," Ron said, jerking a thumb toward the spot where the door normally appeared. "Let's get in there and see if Malfoy's inside."

"No," Harry said at once. "Let it be — I'll find him some other time. Come on, let's go."

"Wait a minute," Hermione said, now thoroughly confused. "You _don't_ want to talk to Malfoy now? After all the trouble you took to come here? What's going on, Harry? What're you up to?"

"Nothing," Harry said quickly. "I just — I decided I'm tired and don't feel like finding Malfoy now, anyway."

Hermione crossed her arms and gave Harry a suspicious look. "That's awfully convenient, Harry. You must've expected Malfoy to be here if you came, and under your Invisibility Cloak, too! Why don't we just —"

"So, Potter," a new voice suddenly said. "Afraid to meet me alone, are you?"

The door to the Room of Requirement had appeared, opening even as it faded into existence, and Draco Malfoy stepped through and into the corridor, sneering at the three Gryffindors. "I'm not surprised," Draco continued, with a smirk at Harry's friends. "You never were brave enough to take on your own battles."

Harry's teeth clenched in anger. Malfoy was gloating, trying to goad him into acting rashly. He still wasn't ready to reveal his secret to Ron and Hermione — especially not in front of Malfoy! He couldn't afford to give the Slytherin — or Voldemort — any more leverage against him.

"You know that's a lie, Malfoy," he snapped, but didn't move toward the door. "But we'll have this out later, not now — my friends don't need to be involved in our…business." He started to turn away, taking Ron and Hermione with him.

"Oh!" Malfoy looked positively gleeful. "They don't _know_, then, do they?"  
"Know _what_, Malfoy?" Ron snapped at the Slytherin. "What are you on about?"

"Nothing," Harry said quickly, trying to keep them moving away. But both Ron and Hermione stopped, turning back to Malfoy.

"What are you hiding about Harry, Malfoy?" Hermione demanded. "Do you have some more vicious lies, started by the Ministry, to spread around the school again?"

"Oh, not lies, Granger," Draco said smoothly. "What I know is dead true." He waved a hand at them airily. "But if Potter doesn't want you to know, I suppose you'll just have to hear about it some other time — say when tell all my friends in Slytherin, and they start spreading the word about Potter.

"_Or_," Draco continued, with a malicious grin. "You can come inside, Potter, and we'll have our 'discussion' in private. It's up to you."

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione. "You need to go," he told them urgently, in a low voice. "It could get — dangerous around here."

"All the more reason for us to stay!" Hermione declared, now very worried indeed for Harry and what he had planned, as well as what Malfoy may have cooked up inside the Room of Requirement. "You don't know what he's got waiting for you inside there!"

"Whatever it is, I can handle it," Harry told her, sounding a lot more arrogant than he felt.

"But what if you _can't_?" Ron spoke up. "If that room can get you whatever you need, maybe he's got a way to beat you — or worse, a way to take you to You-Know-Who!"

"Look," Harry snapped, no longer interested in trying to be subtle. "I'm tired of arguing with you two — now both of you just clear off!" He pulled out his wand, unexpectedly, and took a step back as he shouted "_Protego_!" throwing up a Shield Charm between him and them. Hermione and Ron, both caught off-guard, were pushed back by the spell, and Harry turned and bolted for the Room of Requirement's door, which was now standing empty — Draco had disappeared inside. The Shield Charm faded, but it had done its job — by the time Ron and Hermione had reached the door Harry had yanked it closed and it disappeared from the wall even as Ron reached for it.

"Dammit!" Ron snarled, slapping his hands against the wall in frustration. "What's Harry playing at? He _knows_ better than to put himself in a position like that!" He looked at Hermione. "What do we do _now_?"

"I don't know about you," Hermione told him determinedly. "But I'm not moving from this spot until one or both of them comes out of there." She looked Ron in the eye. "And heaven help Malfoy if he comes out alone."

Inside, Harry looked around, not seeing Malfoy immediately. But the Room—! It was like he'd never been in here before; it was now the size of a small cathedral, its walls stretching up what seemed an impossibly high distance, with tall windows that seemed to light up the room in spite of the fact it was after midnight, showing him what appeared to be a city with towering walls, built from thousands of items that appeared to be the cast-offs and leavings of students over the history of Hogwarts. Harry could see alleyways and roads bordered by teetering piles of damaged and broken furniture, thousands upon thousands of books of all sizes, shapes and condition. He saw piles of old, moldering clothing, and objects from every age imaginable, from rusty coats of mail, to toy catapults, and from there to old Fanged Frisbees. Where had Malfoy disappeared to in all this?

"Malfoy!" Harry called out. "You wanted me in here! Show yourself!"

"Come and find me, Potter!" Malfoy's voice, filtered by distance and the massive piles of objects in the room, came from somewhere ahead of him. Harry shook his head in frustration and hurried forward into one of the corridors of tottering books. He had gone a short distance when he heard Malfoy laugh; it seemed to come from somewhere to his right. He turned right, going past an enormous stuffed troll, and stopped just in front of the Vanishing Cabinet, the one Fred and George had locked Montague in last year; standing next to it, at one edge of an open space of perhaps fifteen feet, was Malfoy, holding an old, bloodstained battleaxe. He had a twisted grin on his pale, sharp face.

Harry frowned at the axe, but otherwise he felt like laughing. "You've got to be kidding," he told the Slytherin, pointing his wand at the axe. "You can't fight me with that old thing."

"Shows what _you_ know, Potter," Malfoy said, hefting the axe threateningly. "This is a very special axe — it was given to me by the Room of Requirement, and I've been practicing with it for the past week."

"Maybe I should tell Hagrid," Harry replied, mockingly. "He might need some wood chopped for his cabin this winter."

"Funny," Malfoy said, though his expression showed no trace of amusement. "Maybe you'll get a laugh out of this, though." He crouched forward, knocking the handle of the axe against the ground, and a sudden blast of light momentarily blinded Harry.

When he could see again, Harry gaped in surprise at the person standing before him. Malfoy was gone, replaced by what seemed to be a tall, powerfully built version of his father, Lucius Malfoy, dressed in silver and black armor and now carrying a gleaming, double-edged axe. But when the man grinned at Harry he knew instantly who it was. "Surprised, eh? I bet you never expected _this_, Potter! Now let's see how well Thor does against me!" He took a step toward Harry.

Harry's wand was out, but instead of striking it against the ground he pointed it toward the transformed Malfoy, shouting "_Petrificus Totalus_!" The Full Body-Bind spell shot at Malfoy, but he batted it casually aside with his axe.

"Pathetic, Potter!" he grinned. "Now let's see you catch this!" and he flung his axe at Harry. Harry dived frantically out of the way as the gleaming axe spun past him, driving into and through the wall of debris behind him. There was a lot of tearing, snapping sounds and a final loud _crunch_ as the axe slammed into something solid.

Harry had rolled into a crouching position, and now realized he would have no chance against the transformed Draco Malfoy. He struck his wand against the ground and a moment later there was a second flash of light as he transformed to Thor.

"Good," Malfoy said, seeing Harry's Thor form leaping to his feet. "Now let's see what your hammer can do against my axe!" He held out his hand; Harry heard a second crunching sound as the axe pulled free of whatever it had buried itself in and flew into Draco's waiting grip. He turned and leaped toward Harry.

Axe and hammer slammed together with a tremendous CLANG of metal against metal. Malfoy's attack was ferocious — Harry found himself barely able to prevent the axe from striking him, strikes that instinct told him would cut deeply into even his powerful, muscular form. Malfoy's eyes were blazing with hatred as he swung mercilessly, again and again, trying to cut or slash Harry open. At one point, with hammer and axe momentarily locked together, Malfoy lashed out with his left hand, catching Harry in the face and staggering him. It was the first blow Harry had received as Thor that he'd really felt. Recovering quickly, Harry released his hold on the hammer, freeing his right hand for a tremendous swing that threw Malfoy's huge form into and through a wall of old furniture, scattering it widely. The axe and Harry's hammer were both flung away as Malfoy landed on a heap of ancient books.

Roaring with rage, Malfoy sprung to his feet, eschewing further use of his axe, and attacked Harry with his bare fists, swinging with blows that slammed into Harry like Bludgers, even as his own massive hands grabbed at Malfoy's arms, trying to tie him up. But Malfoy was fighting all-out, like a man possessed, and Harry could not seem to hold him, even with his prodigious strength. They stood toe-to-toe, smashing each other with sledgehammer blows, until both at the same time held out their hands, recalling their respective weapons to themselves.

Malfoy's axe arrived first, and he swung it at Harry in a disemboweling blow that just barely missed, tearing the dark blue leather of Harry's tunic and gouging a shallow cut across Harry's abdomen. At the same moment, Harry caught Mjolnir and swung a blow at Malfoy that threw the blond-haired giant against the wall near the door, shaking the room. Malfoy staggered, catching the wall the keep himself upright, and looked dazed. Approaching him, Harry glanced at the door, seeing where the axe had apparently embedded itself earlier — he could see a deep cut in the door, deep enough that light was shining through it from the outside, and two eyes were peering through the crack, staring at him in astonishment.

But it was too late to worry about that now. "Had enough?" Harry asked the panting Malfoy, who was now crouching as if in pain.

Suddenly the axe swung toward Harry, faster than he would have thought possible. He put out an arm to catch the handle, but the edge of the blade slammed into his chest, cutting him deeply and throwing him backwards. The metal discs on his tunic had blunted some of the blow but Harry was now wounded. Malfoy leaped after him, slashing viciously with the axe, blows Harry mostly avoided, but also receiving cuts on his arms and shoulders from the flashing silver axe.

Forced backwards along one of the corridors of discarded object, Harry is finally standing beside the stuffed troll when Malfoy, trying to end the battle decisively, swung the blade overhead with both hands and chopped downward toward Harry, shearing off one of the troll's arms and slamming the axe into Harry's helmet, knocking him to the floor. The troll's arm fell across him, along with the bundle held in the crook of its arm, and landed on the floor next to Harry.

Harry lay on the floor, too dazed to recover quickly. Malfoy stepped over him, gloating. "Not so big now, are you, Potter," he said softly, swinging back his axe for the final blow. "Now I'll have Thor's Hammer, and you can join your parents!" But even as the axe quivered in his hand, preparing to strike, Malfoy blinked, at first uncomprehendingly, at what was lying next to Harry on the floor.

The bundle that fell from the troll's arm had burst open, revealing a jumble of bones that might have been a small, human skeleton. But it was the material itself that had drawn Malfoy's attention — or rather, an certain insignia sewn into the material: Sable, a chevron between two mullets in chief and a sword in base, argent; the terminology his parents had insisted on teaching him about family crests. What it meant was, a black shield with two greyhounds on either side, a green chevron in the middle separating two five-pointed stars above and a single sword, pointed upward below. Below it was the phrase "_Toujours pur_," French for "always pure." In even more basic terms, it was the Black family crest, the family his mother had been born into. And inside it were the bones of a very small human being.

Was _this_ the "sticky situation" this room had saved his mother from. Draco bent down, snatching up the bundle, bones and all, ignoring Harry completely. _What had she done_? "Mother," he whispered, thinking of all the possibilities.

"NO!" Draco turned and strode toward the door, carrying the bundle with him. With the axe in one hand and the bundle in the other, he did not pause at the door, but simply kicked it out of his way, sending it flying across the corridor and into the tapestry.

Outside in the corridor, Ron and Hermione, who'd been watching as much of the fight as they could through the hole sliced in the door, had jumped out of the way at the last moment. They watched in amazement as Draco turned and strode down the hallway, ignoring them as well, until he reached the window at the near end of the corridor. With a single swipe of his axe, Malfoy smashed out the glass, then threw the axe out the window, catching the strap of its handle and flying out with it, just as Harry did with Mjolnir in his Thor form. The two of them rushed to the window, peering carefully through the broken glass, expecting to see his body on the ground below. "Do — do you see anything down there?" Hermione asked tremulously, not wanting to look herself.

Ron was squinting downward. "Nope, nothing." He looked back at her. "He couldn't have survived a fall like that, could he?"

"Not unless he could fly," Hermione answered, "and we both know that's impossible. _No one_ can fly unaided."

"Well, he was carrying that axe," Ron pointed out, uncertainly.

"Ron, have you ever heard of a _flying axe_?" Hermione demanded.

Ron shrugged, scanning the skies for a moment, but it was too dark to see anything. "Do — do you think that was _Malfoy_?" he asked Hermione, looking unnerved by all he'd seen in just the past few minutes.

"It looked like his father," Hermione answered. Her voice was calmer than his — she'd guessed something was going on, after all, but nothing like _this_! "It might have been him, somehow. Come on!" She hurried back toward the Room of Requirement, with Ron right behind her.

They both peered cautiously into the room, both surprised by its size and contents. There was a moan, and Hermione hurried toward its source. Ron followed more slowly, looking around at the objects piled precariously atop one another. "Oh my God!" Hermione called out suddenly "Ron! Come here, quick!"

Ron hurried up one of the corridors between stacks of old furniture and books, following the sound of her voice. He'd gone only a few steps when he came upon Hermione kneeling over a large muscular man with long, black hair, dressed in strange, blue leather and a large red cloak. There was a large metal helmet on his head with wings on either side, and a deep dent across the top; rivulets of blood had run down the side of his face, and his head lolled back, as if he were dazed from a mighty blow. If Malfoy had hit him with that axe —

"Is this _Harry_?" Ron asked, amazed again. What had this Room _done_ to him and Malfoy, he wondered — and how could he get some of it?

"I think so," Hermione answered. "Look at his eyes." Ron looked; the man's eyes, visible intermittently as the he blinked dazedly, trying to focus on something, anything, were a brilliant green.

"Those are Harry's eyes, alright," Ron agreed. "D'you think _this_ is the secret he was keeping from us, then?"

"I don't know," Hermione answered, shortly. She was trying to get the helmet off him, but it seemed stuck on, somehow; she couldn't budge it. "I can't get this off!" she said, frantically. "We have to help him, somehow!"

"Shall we get Madam Pomfrey up here?" Ron asked, turning back to the door. "She might be able to do somethin'—" A hand caught his arm — it was Harry,

"No," Harry gasped weakly, "Don't — don't tell…anyone else…in school," he managed to say.

"We've got to tell _someone_, Harry!" Hermione insisted, her voice going shrill with worry. But the exertion had been too much for Harry; he lapsed back into unconsciousness. "He's out again! Oh, Ron, what're we going to _do_?"

"Who at Hogwarts would Harry trust?" Ron thought furiously for several moments, then snapped his fingers as he thought of the answer. "_Dobby_!" he shouted.

There was a _crack_ and a moment later the small, homely house-elf stood before them. "Harry Potter's friend has called Dobby," he said in his high, squeaky voice. "What may Dobby do for them?"  
"Dobby, this is Harry Potter, believe it or not. You've got to help him!" Hermione spoke with frantic haste.

"_This_ is Harry Potter?" Dobby said, looking at the large man sprawled on the floor before him. "Harry Potter has grown up fast!"

"We don't know why he's like this," Hermione said quickly. "But you've got to get him to the hospital — to St. Mungo's — right away. Do you think you can take him there? But _don't_ tell anyone who he really is!" she added hastily. "He —he doesn't want anyone to find out this happened to him, I think."

Dobby stepped up to Harry's form, putting a small, gnarled hand on his shoulder. Ron and Hermione both watched anxiously as he held it there for several moments. "Yes," Dobby said at last. "This is Harry Potter — Dobby will bring him to the hospital." He took hold of Harry's hands in his, then looked up at Ron and Hermione, who were now both standing over them. "But Harry Potter is so big, now! It may be difficult…"

"Will you try, Dobby?" Hermione pleaded. "_Please_, Dobby!"

Dobby nodded determinedly. "Dobby will try." A moment later there was a loud _CRACK_ and both Dobby and Harry disappeared.

Hermione sagged against Ron, and he supported her as they walked through the broken doorway of the Room of Requirement and into the corridor beyond. Several steps beyond it, they both stopped, turning to watch as the door lying on the floor across the hallway slowly rose into the air, floating into place in the doorframe. The door then faded from sight once again, leaving the hallway as if nothing had ever happened, except for the broken window at the end of the hall.

"I hope Harry gets well quickly," Hermione said, looking up at Ron. "Then he's going to explain all this to us, or I'm going to kill him!"

=ooo=

Some time later, Harry had been admitted to St. Mungo's and was resting quietly in Ward Four (the Cliodne ward) on the ground floor of the magical hospital. He'd been placed on the Artifact Accidents floor of the hospital because the obvious injuries in his shoulder and head appeared artifact-inflicted.

It had been a strange admittance. The Welcome Witch in the reception area, used to unusual occurrences and situations, was nevertheless rather surprised when a six-and-a-half-foot man suddenly appeared on her desk, along with a frantic house-elf demanding he be admitted. Healers in lime-green robes rushed in, examining the unconscious form and quickly moving him out of the room while other patients muttered about him being taken out of turn.

"Just hold on!" the Welcome Witch finally snapped at the room in general, to quiet them down. "With obvious trauma wounds the Healers decided his need was greatest at the moment! So you can all just settle down and wait your turns!"

Grumbling and complaining under their breaths, the other patients went back to their rickety chairs while the witch questioned Dobby about the man.

"Name?" she asked.

"Dobby, the free elf," Dobby said, proudly.

"No, _his_ name," the witch said impatiently, jerking her quill in the direction they'd taken Harry.

"He is not Harry Potter!" Dobby said at once, then suddenly banged his head against the top of the nurse's desk.

"Stop that!" the Welcome Witch reached out, jerking Dobby upright. "I know he's not Harry Potter," she said, in a irritated tone. "I've seen him in the paper and that's not him. Harry Potter's got the best-known face in the Wizarding world today, since Gilderoy Lockhart went barmy. Now, can you tell me the name of the man you just brought in?"

"Dobby doesn't know what to call him," the little house-elf told her. "He was unconscious when Dobby found him."

"Very well," the witch said, writing down the name "Joe Muggs" on the admittance form, then consulting a clipboard containing several parchment pages and adding "#96-102" after the name, for the 102nd such person admitted to the hospital that year. "Do you know how his injuries were inflicted?" she asked next.

Dobby shook his head, his great tennis-ball-sized eyes looking rather distraught.

"Do you know where the incident took place?" the witch went on, trying to sound more patient than she felt.

Dobby nodded his head this time, but remained silent.

After several seconds, the witch looked up at him. "Well?" she asked, a bit irritated. "_Where_, then?"

Dobby blinked at her, then shook his head. He then got down on his hands and knees and began slamming his forehead against the desk again, until the Welcome Witch reached out and restrained him.

"Alright, never mind," she said. "We'll get the necessary information from him when he wakes up — _if_ he wakes up," she added, dispassionately. "You can go, now," she told Dobby.

Dobby nodded gratefully to her, though inwardly he was horrified by the implication she'd made. _Harry Potter, not wake up? It was unthinkable_! He disappeared with a _crack_ back to Hogwarts. Harry Potter's friends should hear of this!

Back in the Cliodne ward, Harry had been placed in a bed and his helmet, cloak and tunic were finally removed by the Healing team assigned to him. The cloak detached from his tunic without much trouble but the tunic itself was more difficult to remove. It did not respond to spells to loosen it, vanish it, or cut it; neither did the helmet, though both had to be removed to treat the wounds beneath them.

Finally one of the Healers had the bright idea to try changing the _man_ rather than the clothing. It took three Healers, each applying a Shrinking Charm to his body, to get him to shrink even a little bit, and they barely got his helmet and tunic off before he returned to normal size.

The wounds were just as obstinate about healing, almost as if they were made by a cursed weapon or spell. Fortunately, neither would was deep — no bones had been damaged, though skin and muscle had been lacerated by whatever had cut through the tunic. The helmet, though still intact, had a great crease in its crown; it had been that material, rather than whatever had hit it that had damaged the dark-haired man's scalp. Both wounds resisted healing spells, and Healers with special experience in healing potions were called in for consultation.

Dittany on the chest wound did not seem to help, and the potions specialists were baffled about what to do next until they noticed both wounds seemed to be slowly closing on their own, even without the addition of dittany. It was decided to prepare some Blood-Replenishing Potion in case he awoke weak from loss of blood; otherwise they recommended allowing him to rest comfortably and heal on his own.

Later that morning, as the day shift was coming on duty, Harry received another visitor in lime-green robes. This time it was the middle-aged man he'd met in the hospital Tearoom a few months ago, the Squib who'd called himself Joe. Joe walked slowly up the aisle to Harry's bed, leaning on his cane for support. He was just coming on duty when one of the other Healers had mentioned the new patient in the Cliodne ward: the tall, strapping but unknown male they'd called Joe Muggs #96-102. As this was Joe's name as well (or at least, the one he'd been given, all those years ago), he thought he'd look in on the person. Who would have thought it would be _this_ man?

"Good morning, Joe," a voice behind him spoke pleasantly, and Joe turned to see one of the day shift Healers, a Miss Arachna, standing behind him. "I see you've met our latest 'Joe Muggs,'" she said, looking at the unconscious man.

"Yes," Joe nodded. "Though I've met him before."

"Really?" Healer Arachna looked surprised. "When was this?"  
"A few months ago," Joe answered, looking down at the Healer; even though he was hobbled with a bad leg, he was still much taller than she was. "He was here with the Records Keeper, Henry Chamberlain, looking for a Muggle who'd been in the hospital more than thirty years ago, someone named….Donald Blake, if I remember correctly. Chamberlain called him 'Thor.'"

"Good, good," Arachna muttered, scribbling the information down on the chart she held. "I'll get with Chamberlain and see what he remembers. "Thirty years ago, huh?" she said, looking up at Joe with a wry smile. "A bit before my time, I think!"

Joe nodded absently at the young witch. She was a pretty, black-haired woman with large, round glasses reminiscent of a style normally adopted by witches older than herself — she had told Joe some time ago that she was just ten years out of Hogwarts, so she wasn't even thirty yet. He had been working here at the hospital longer than she'd been alive.

"Not before my time, I'm afraid," Joe smiled wanly. "But I don't remember any person named Blake coming into the hospital, so I wasn't much help."

"Well," Arachna said, with a small shrug. "That's not our worry, is it? We'll get this Thor healed and send him on his way. Hopefully he'll be able to find the man he's looking for. If he doesn't wake up within a few days or so of those wounds healing, though," she added, her expression turning somber, "we may have to move him to the Janus Thickey ward." Her smile returned as she looked at Joe once again. "See you at lunch?"

"I'll try to be on time today," he said, and she nodded and left the ward. Joe looked at Thor once again. The Janus Thickey ward was for patients with permanent brain damage. There were only a handful of patients in there now, thankfully — two ex-Aurors, a husband and wife team, and a rather annoying, golden-haired fellow named Lockhart who, even though he had no memory of who he'd been, was still quite vain about himself. Joe couldn't see this man going into that ward.

Joe stepped closer to the bed containing Thor's still form, laying a hand softly on his shoulder. The wound across his chest seemed smaller now; the skin was almost completely sealed again, and though it was still an angry red, there seemed to be no trace of actual infection. Joe wished he could remain until the man awoke — there were some questions Joe felt like he needed to ask, but his other duties must come first. He stood, moving slowly to the ward's door, and looked back at the still form before he left the room. He would be back, he promised himself, as soon as he had a break, and would return to sit here when his shift was over.

=ooo=

Draco had not fallen to the castle grounds after flinging himself through the seventh-floor window; instead, he was carried upward into the midnight sky by the axe, powered with Loki's enchantment, and flew south, toward Devon and his parents' home. Clutching the blanket to him, he paid scant attention to the wind whistling past him, flying faster than any broom or carpet, until a short time later he caught sight of the countryside surrounding the Malfoy estate. Having bullied his parents into buying him brooms in his younger days, and sneaking out to fly them at night, he knew the landmarks surrounding his home, and the happy times he'd spent up in the nighttime sky looking down on it, feeling glad that he was more special than the other families in the area — he was a Malfoy, and his family controlled most of Wizarding Britain. As they should!

But none of those memories mattered now, not after what he'd found. Draco could hardly think straight, he was so sickened by what he'd found in the Room of Requirement. His own mother was some kind of slut, some _whore_, who'd let herself be defiled by some wizard before she was even married! If his father ever found out — Draco shook that thought from his head; it did not bear contemplating, for his mother would be dead if Lucius Malfoy found out the truth about her.

Malfoy landed on the front lawn of the estate, slamming into the ground so hard his feet were driven in past his ankles. He stepped out of the holes and strode quickly up the steps to the front doors. It was locked, but with one furious swipe of his axe the door shattered inward, and Draco stepped across the threshold and into the long, dark hallway. "_Mother_!" he shouted. "_Aunt Bella_! Are you here! ANSWER ME!" His bellows resounded throughout the house, until a few moments later two women appeared almost simultaneously from two separate door and rushed up the hallway toward him, their wands lit and held high to allow them to see.

Narcissa reached him first, and as her wand illuminated him she stopped short in surprise. "Lucius?" she said, uncertainly. "What are you —"

"I'm not Father," Draco snapped. "I'm your son, Draco."

Bellatrix arrived a moment later, giving him a look that hovered between jubilation and fear. "Did you get it?" she asked, tenseness in her voice. If Draco had the hammer, and had used it, as his new body implied, there was no telling what he might be doing here.

"No." Draco held up the axe. "I used this to become like I am now. I got it from the Room of Requirement." He turned to his mother, holding out the blanket he'd found. "I also found this in there, Mother. Do you know what I found inside it? An infant's skeleton!"

Narcissa was backing away from him, shaking her head. "I — I don't know what — what that's —"

"You _don't know_?" Draco roared, shaking the blanket at her. Several bones, human remains, fell from the blanket onto the floor of the manor. "How can you say that, Mother? _Look at the initials on the blanket_!"

Narcissa's eyes were wide with fear. "I — I tell you I don't know, Draco! Someone must have stolen it from me, used it to make me appear guilty —"

Draco threw the blanket on the floor. "And you expect me to _believe_ that? Mother, _please_! Who else knew about the Room, other than you? Why would they put it there to make you look guilty, if it was supposed to be a _secret_? Isn't it much more reasonable to believe this is the 'sticky situation' you told me about before I got on the train to Hogwarts?"

But before Narcissa could reply, the small, stout form of Peter Pettigrew appeared. "You've disturbed the Master!" he said, with as harsh a voice as he could muster, being confronted by a seven-foot-tall man wielding an axe. "He w-wishes to see all of you in his chamber, now!"

"Does he?" Draco snarled. "Good! I wish to see him as well!" He strode to the drawing room ahead of the others, slamming an arm into the door and smashing it from its frame, then stepped into the room to confront the Dark Lord.

Voldemort, as before, was seated upon the throne he'd erected before the marble fireplace at the head of the room. His red eyes followed Draco's movements closely as the young Slytherin stepped to the middle of the room, followed closely by his mother, aunt and the rat.

"Hmm," Voldemort said, after staring at Draco for several moments. "If I understand correctly, you claim to be young Draco Malfoy."

"I am," Draco answered forcefully.

Voldemort nodded slightly. "I see the truth in your eyes, Draco," he said softly in his high, clear voice. "I might even have believed you managed to obtain the Hammer of Thor, if it weren't for the fact that you're holding an axe, not a hammer, in your hand. How did you come by this power?"

"That's my concern," Draco replied coldly. "You only need to know that I have this power, and I intend to use it to take the Hammer of Thor — for myself!"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Indeed? That seems rather presumptuous of you, Draco. After all, you are _mine_, now."

Behind him, Draco heard his mother whimper in fear. He hated hearing that, even more than he hated the thought of her disgracing herself before she and Father were married. Even if he despised her for her failures, she was still his mother, and he would fight to protect her, whatever it may take!

When Draco did not reply immediately, Voldemort stood and stepped down from the throne. "You do not answer me?" he said, a dangerous edge coming into his voice. "When you know I hold the lives of your parents in my hand?"

"You won't for long," Draco growled, hefting the axe. "Not when I've carved you into pieces for threatening my family!"

"You think so?" Voldemort looked almost amused by the idea. His wand was in his hand — Draco had not even seen him move to get it.

Draco grinned wolfishly. "You couldn't beat Thor when you met him, remember? Yet I beat him to a standstill just a short while ago! I would have killed him, too, if I hadn't found something that brought me here first. If you couldn't beat him, you don't stand a chance against _me_!"

"You may be surprised," Voldemort said, and his voice was as cold as ice. "I, too have been busy these past few months, creating spells to contain someone with even Thor's might. Attack me at your peril, boy."

"With pleasure, you old fool!" Draco shouted, flinging the axe at the Dark Lord with all his strength. Voldemort's wand had come up even as Draco's arm drew back, and by the time the axe was whizzing through the air at him, Voldemort had conjured a silver shield; the axe slammed into it, embedding itself halfway through the shield.

"Impressive," Draco said, then held out his hand. "Return to me, axe!"

But though the axe quivered, it could not free itself from the shield. Voldemort pointed his wand at the axe and the shield disappeared, leaving the weapon floating in mid-air. He reached out and grasped it, holding it easily, then waved his wand over it again as he spoke several arcane phrases. The axe shimmered and reverted to its original form: an ancient, blood-stained battle axe. At the same time, Draco's tall, imposing form began to shrink, and within moments he had returned to his pale, thin teenaged self.

Stripped of his power, Draco turned to look helplessly at his mother, horror written on his face. Her own face was a mirror to his, while Bellatrix looked on tensely.

"You were saying, Draco?" Voldemort asked, in a sardonic tone. He glanced once more at the battle axe in his hand, then let it fall to the floor with a clang of metal on stone. "What shall I do with you?" he wondered aloud, almost sympathetically. "I'll tell you what — I'll let you decide. Should I kill you for your betrayal of me, or shall I punish your mother for your transgressions as you watch? You may decide, but quickly, or I'll be forced to do both."


	11. The Orderly's Tale

**Harry Thunderer and the Uru Hammer**

**Chapter Eleven  
****"The Orderly's Tale"**

_Updated 12 November 2010_

"Then kill _me_," Draco said unhesitatingly.

"No!" Narcissa stepped forward, trying to reach her son, but Bellatrix held her back. Voldemort's red, snakelike eyes glanced toward the two women for a moment, then settled on Draco once again.

"Would you trade your life for that of your mother, Draco?" the Dark Lord asked him.

Draco nodded, no longer afraid, now that he had made his decision. "Yes."

"Even though you think of her now as a whore, a common slut?" Voldemort sneered, as Draco started and his mother turned away, burying her face in her sister's shoulder. "Oh, yes — your thoughts have been quite open to me since you've arrived here. Don't you want me to punish her for her transgressions against your father, against your pureblood heritage, against _you_?"

Draco was trembling with rage and fear, but he raised his head defiantly and said, "If you're going to kill me, better just get it over with! I will never do your bidding again. So just do what you must, it doesn't matter anymore."

"No, Draco!" Narcissa spun around, starting toward him again, but Voldemort's wand pointed toward her and she was pushed back several feet; Bellatrix caught her just before she fell.

"Quiet, woman," Voldemort said dismissively, lowering his wand. He took a step back, reseating himself in his chair, and regarded the three of them silently for several moments.

"But it matters to _me_, Draco," he said at last, with a small smile on his pallid features. "Not about you, especially, or for your mother, for that matter, but your Aunt Bella seems somewhat attached to both of you, for reasons I have no desire to fathom, however, so for her sake I may let the both of you live. For now.

"What _does_ interest me," Voldemort continued, leaning forward in his chair to stare into Draco's eyes, "is how you came to possess that axe. Its power is well beyond anything a boy such as you would be capable of creating." Draco's eyes narrowed at the implied insult in Voldemort's words. "So, how did you come by it?"

"What difference does that make?" Draco sneered defiantly. He held no illusions about his fate now — he had openly rebelled against the Dark Lord; there would be no punishment severe enough to repay that in his eyes. Draco had already sealed his fate. He was as good as dead. "You're going to kill me no matter what I tell you, so why should I tell you anything?"

"To save yourself pain," Voldemort said, pointing his wand. "_Crucio_!" Draco fell to the floor, writhing and screaming in agony; the Cruciatus Curse burned along all of his nerve endings, and time no longer seemed to exist. There was only pain — waves and waves of unending pain, and Draco howled like the damned soul he'd imagined himself to be. Narcissa was screaming as well, trying to run to Draco but being held back once again by her sister, who knew her master would harbor no compunctions about making the punishment a family affair, if goaded in the slightest.

After a few moments Voldemort lowered his wand, and Draco's body went limp. "I hope you can tell how very disappointed I am in you, Draco," the Dark Lord said, mildly. "You deserved that much at least, for daring to imagine that you could somehow beat me, even with an enchanted axe!" His eyes flicked to the women. "Revive him, and I will ask him once more where the axe came from."

Narcissa and Bellatrix both dashed to Draco's side. He was barely conscious—though the Curse had lasted only seconds, both of them were keenly aware of how it could affect a person. Narcissa's wand was out; she was glancing surreptitiously toward Voldemort, preparing a Memory Charm to make Draco forget the pain he'd just endured, when Bellatrix caught her sister's eye and shook her head. "Just _Rennervate_ him," she whispered. Narcissa hesitated, but then nodded and held the wand over Draco's chest. She whispered the spell and Draco's eyes fluttered open.

Bellatrix leaned close to him, seeming to check for other damage. Her mouth lingered near his ear for a moment. "Tell him what he wants to know," she whispered. "Stay alive, Draco, for your mother's sake."

Draco shot her a look, a confusion of anger and incomprehension, but nodded. He grunted softly as they helped him to his feet and he faced Voldemort once again.

"Now that I have your attention," Voldemort said, a hint of twisted humor in his voice. "Would you like to share how you came by the axe you tried, so ineptly, to kill me with?"

Draco glanced at his mother and his aunt before answering. "I got it from the Room of Requirement."

Voldemort sat back, a mask of non-emotion falling over his features. "The 'Room of Requirement,'" he repeated. "I am not familiar with that name. Describe the place to me."

Draco explained about the hidden door in the seventh floor corridor where one could enter a room filled with items that seemed to span the whole history of Hogwarts — ancient weapons; old, broken furniture; stacks and mounds of old books and discarded clothing — things no one cared about anymore.

Voldemort's eyes were red slits when Draco finished speaking. "Who told you of this room?" he demanded.

"I —" Draco glanced at his mother, but in spite of his anger at her he was not going to implicate her in this. "— I just found it."

"Liar," Voldemort snapped, and Draco thought his mind had given up his secret once again. But— "I am the only person who ever found the Room of Hidden Things! Someone had to have told you!"

Draco almost laughed. "Why? If you were in there, you saw it all, too — where do you suppose all that stuff came from, then?"

"House-elves," Voldemort answered immediately. "They are responsible for keeping the castle in order. They put broken or discarded items in there, not the students! Or the castle is able to move items in there by itself."

"Are you really _that_ arrogant?" Draco asked, incredulous. "Thinking only _you've_ been inside that room?"

Behind him, Bellatrix muttered "Shut it, Draco," under her breath.

But Draco, still angry at both his mother and Voldemort, continued to lash out. "Even my _mother_ knew about the Room of Requirement — _that's_ how I found out about it! So thinking you're the only one who's ever been inside it is pretty bloody deluded on your part!"

He spun to point a finger accusingly at Narcissa. "_You_ told me about the Room of Requirement — the Room of Hidden Things, as your master called it! _That's_ how I know that child was yours, Mother!"

"It was not her child," Bellatrix suddenly spoke up. "It was mine."

=ooo=

The room became dead quiet for several seconds. Draco and Narcissa both stared at her in shock. Even Voldemort raised a hairless eyebrow at her. Bellatrix finally turned to her younger sister. "I — I did not think anyone would ever find it there, Cissy…"

"What did you _do_?" Narcissa asked, her voice a harsh whisper.

"I was — afraid," Bellatrix said at last. "Afraid that I would not be included with the other Death Eaters, afraid that I would be considered 'only a woman' and not worthy of the Dark Mark.

"I seduced Rodolphus into loving me," she continued, "so he would mention me to the Master, to be considered for his inner circle. That worked, but I had the misfortune of becoming pregnant as well."

"How could you have kept something like that a secret?" Draco asked, astonishment in his voice. "Surely someone would have noticed —"

"Perhaps they would have, were I less intelligent," Bellatrix sounded oddly proud for someone who had just admitted so grievous an error in judgment. Most purebloods (at least among the women) held to the tradition of remaining virgins until their wedding night. Pureblood men, however, routinely violated that tradition. If Rodolphus Lestrange had bedded Bellatrix Black, it seemed likely he had no intentions of marrying her. Yet, they _had_ married. "I researched spells and potions that hid my condition — I hoped to be out of school before I was delivered, but it happened just after the school had finished its N.E.W.T.s examinations, in June."

At this point Voldemort spoke up. "How did you discover the Room?"

"Cissy told me," Bellatrix nodded toward her sister. "Fortunately for me — otherwise I would have had no way of hiding the child. I mentioned to her that I wanted to find someplace where I could be alone for a while — to think about things, I told her. She mentioned a room to me in a corridor on the seventh floor — one that could only be found under very special circumstances. When — when my water broke, I went to the corridor and wished very hard for a place where I could have my baby without anyone finding out. And the door appeared, just as she said it would."

Narcissa was staring at her older sister as if she'd never really seen her before. "Did — did you kill the child?" she asked, quietly.

"No!" Bellatrix actually looked offended by the question. "Cissy, it was — it was born dead." There was a break in her voice as she said this, but she shook her head after a moment and stared at her sister with a fierce, bright gaze. "I would have brought it home with me if it had lived."

"Mother and Father would have killed you — or disowned you," Narcissa said. "Or both, most likely."

Bellatrix laughed mirthlessly. "They would not have dared — I had the Dark Mark by then!"

There was a sound of clapping from the front of the room. Voldemort was applauding, his thin, lipless mouth twisted in a smirking grin. "I recall your initiation, Bella — congratulations on hiding the truth, even from me. Perhaps that also explains why you and Rodolphus never had children."

Bellatrix said nothing, and Draco looked at his aunt. Could this be why she had treated him the way she had for all these years — caring and compassion one moment, hard and ruthless the next? It might explain some things about her — did the memory of that child haunt her, make her the volatile personality she was?

"However," Voldemort continued, holding out a white, long-fingered hand in front of him — the axe on the floor leapt up into his grasp. "It does not explain how _this_ —" he held the axe up for them to see "— could have come from the Room of Lost Things. It is much too powerful an artifact to have come from that Room, don't you think?"

"That's where I got it from," Draco said, stubbornly. "If you don't believe me that's your problem."

Voldemort stood and stepped down from his throne, still holding the axe. "Oh, I see the truth of it in your eyes, Draco. You do believe that is where this artifact came from. That leaves very few explanations open to us," he said, gazing at the old, bloodstained axe as he hefted it in his left hand. "It might have been left in the room, possibly by one of the Founders, in the hope that it would never be found again. Or," he glanced up at Draco. "Or, it was placed there deliberately, in order for you to find it, in the hope that you would use it against me."

Draco frowned. That seemed like paranoia, even to him. "Who would do that?" he asked. "Who would even suspect that I was working for you now? Surely not Potter!"

"No, of course not," Voldemort agreed, with a dismissive shake of his hairless head. "Potter is too caught up in playing the Asgardian Thunderer to plan anything like this. No…perhaps Dumbledore has figured out that I have ordered you to kill him — perhaps he even knows that you are trying to steal Thor's Hammer for yourself." At Draco's surprised expression the Dark Lord smiled cunningly. "Of course I knew you would make that attempt, Draco — don't look so surprised. That is why I was prepared with spells to take it from you."

"Dumbledore _can't_ know I've been ordered to kill him," Draco said. "I haven't even tried yet… this…" His voice faltered to silence.

"As I've surmised," Voldemort said, coldly. "Because you've been doing nothing but trying to get the Hammer for yourself, correct? _Correct_?"

Draco said nothing. He knew lying was pointless now — the Dark Lord had figured things out. Voldemort smiled once again, taking his silence as implicit agreement. "I wondered if you'd admit it, Draco.

"But in point of fact, I do not think Dumbledore is responsible for you wielding this axe. The magic in it exceeds even his abilities. Even now I can feel power pulsing within it, coursing throughout the weapon — power that must come from Hogwarts itself, to be so great.

There was a soft _tsking_ sound off to one side, and all heads jerked toward it. A tall, thin man stood along one of the walls, dressed in the finest robes, with a wreath of leaves on his head. "An interesting supposition, mortal," he said, his voice soft but carrying. "But you're not even close."

=ooo=

Harry Potter's eyes fluttered open, seeing an indistinct shape above him, and he thrust his arm protectively in the air.

"Hey, no worries," a voice said, softly, and Harry shook his head, trying to clear the last of the cobwebs out of his brain. The last thing he remembered, he was trying to block a blow from Draco's axe, and failed — it had clocked him on the head, and Harry had seen a burst of white then darkness, until now.

Blinking in the sudden light, he looked up at the gray-haired, bearded man standing above him. He was still lying down, but he seemed to be on something softer than the floor of the Room of Requirement. "Where am I?" he asked, rather predictably.

The bearded man gave him a small smile. "Where were you the last time you saw me?"

Harry looked up, shading his eyes, and stared at the older man's smiling face. "Uh — Joe?"

"Yeah," the man nodded, sitting down in a chair next to the bed once again. "It's old Joe from St. Mungo's, remember?"

Harry sat up, looking around. "How'd I get here? I was —" he stopped, not really wanting to say what he'd been doing.

"Getting your arse kicked, apparently," Joe finished, dryly. "You were brought here by some house-elf named Dobby."

"Dobby?" Harry repeated. "How would he —" he stopped again, realizing that Ron and Hermione may have had something to do with it. But how could they have gotten into the Room of Requirement after he shut them out? And _how_ could they have stopped Malfoy in his transformed state, if he was capable of knocking out even Harry in _his_?

"You're not having much luck completing sentences, are you?" Joe asked him, looking a little concerned. "Are you having trouble completing your thoughts? Does your head hurt?"

Harry turned to the side so his was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing Joe. He reached up, carefully touching the top of his head where Draco's axe had hit his helmet. He half-expected to find a large gash there, but other than a dull throb in his crown there was nothing. "A bit," he told the older man. "I didn't realize you were a Healer when I was here before."

"I'm not," Joe shook his head. "Just an orderly. I'm a Squib, remember? — I couldn't cure a boil on your bum, much less heal the kind of injuries you had.

"In fact, _nobody_ healed you," he continued with a shrug. "They had enough trouble just getting that helmet and tunic off you." Harry looked down, realizing that he was bare to the waist once again. There was a red welt on the left side of his chest, and his left arm felt a bit stiff, but otherwise he felt fine.

"Where are my things?" he asked. Joe pointed to a small wardrobe on the opposite side of the bed. Harry started to turn around to open the wardrobe, but Joe held up a hand to stop him.

"Before you go…" he said, his voice becoming tentative, as if he wasn't sure how to ask the question he was about to ask. "I…wanted to ask you a couple of questions about yourself — if that's alright?"

"Umm —" Harry wasn't sure just what this older man might want to know about him. They hadn't really talked that much the last time they met; Harry had been distracted with the attack in the Leaky Cauldron and trying to track down Donald Blake — But Henry, the Records Keeper here at St. Mungo's, had said Joe had worked here since the early 1960's; if anyone remembered Donald Blake from the short time he may have been in the magical hospital, Joe might be his only link to Blake. And once he found Blake, Harry hoped that Odin would help him find his godfather, Sirius Black. "What do you want to know?" Harry finally asked him.

"You seem… familiar to me," Joe said, hesitantly, as if he were afraid of sounding discourteous. "I mean to say, I know we've only met once before — you recall when, don't you?"

"Yes," Harry nodded. "It was up in the Tea Room, a few months ago. Henry pointed you out as someone who had worked here a long time. He thought you might remember the man I'd been looking for, Donald Blake."

Joe looked thoughtful for several moments, then shook his head. "Can you describe this man?" he asked.

Harry remembered the image Odin had shown him of Blake and a young woman he was with. "He was not very tall, blond, and he wore horn-rimmed glasses. Oh, and he walked with a cane," he added, recalling that detail at the last moment as he noticed Joe was leaning on one as well. "Hmm," he said, recalling the time they'd met. "I don't remember seeing with you with that cane last time, come to think of it."

"Oh, this?" Joe lifted the cane for a moment as a wry smile came over his features. "Yes, I've had this for a long time now. So long I don't even remember how I hurt my leg anymore."

"What can you tell me about yourself?" Harry asked, now curious about the man who had obviously been sitting with him while he was unconscious, though they barely knew one another.

"Don't reckon there's much to tell, really," Joe shrugged. "I've been here for more than thirty years now, doing orderly work. Except for the gimpy leg, I'm pretty strong, even for my age, so I can help with patients without needing a wand — and that's handy, especially if someone is trying to leave without permission, because nobody can take a wand from me if I don't have one."

"For your age, huh?" Harry said, looking at the man. Despite the gray in his hair and beard, he did not appear to be very old, perhaps in his mid- to late forties. "How old are you?"

Joe shrugged again. "Don't have an exact age, but I remember someone telling me, early on, that a magical detection spell had placed me at about thirty. Since I been here around thirty-five years, now, I'm supposed to be about 65."

A suspicion had begun to form in Harry's brain. "If you don't mind," he asked Joe. "I'd like you to tell me everything you can remember about coming to work for St. Mungo's — when you first started, who you worked for, things like that."

Joe just shrugged. "Sorry, squire, it's been so long I really don't remember anything about those days." He grinned airily. "Maybe I had one of them 'traumatic experiences,' d'you think?"

Harry wasn't prepared to say that _wasn't_ the cause of Joe's lack of memory, but there were a lot of similarities between him and the half-remembered image of Donald Blake shown to him months ago. Blake had been blond; Joe was gray-haired and wore a beard, but still had roughly the same hairstyle as Blake did. They were both around the same height, as near as Harry could tell, and both of them used a cane. When Harry first found it, the Hammer's original disguise had been a gnarled stick, about three feet long.

"There might be a way for me to help you remember," Harry told him, a feeling of both excitement and dread growing within him — excitement at the prospect of finding Odin's son, and dread at the thought of giving up Mjolnir.

"Really?" Joe looked intrigued at that suggestion. "How?"

"I can use Mjolnir to help you remember," Harry said, looking around the bed to see where they'd laid his weapon.

"_What_ did you say?" Joe asked, sharply. "What's this — this 'Mjolnir?'"

"It's a long story," Harry said, still trying to locate it. "But it's a very powerful weapon I've had for some time now — it can do… well, a lot of things." He looked up at Joe. "Do you think they'd have put it somewhere when I came in?"

Joe shook his head. "You came in with only what you were wearing — there was no hammer brought in with you."

A horrible suspicion formed in Harry's mind — could Malfoy have somehow stolen it after he knocked him out? "We've got to find it!" he said, urgently. "That hammer may be the key to you getting your memory back!"

=ooo=

Ron was peering closely at the wall opposite Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry, trying to find the slightest crack where the door had been. "Nothing," he said at last, as Hermione finally turned away from the broken window at the end of the hall, the window the large blond man had smashed open and jumped through, only to disappear rather than fall to the grounds below. "Not a scratch on the wall, Hermione. Except for the fact that we _saw_ them, and for that broken window, it's like nothing happened here.

Hermione nodded, clearly upset. "Oh, I hope Dobby comes back soon!" she said, desperately. "We should have gone with him and Harry!"

"Yeah," Ron agreed, "but that might've made it harder for Dobby to take Harry to St. Mungo's."

"I know," she moaned. "Just a few more days and I'll be old enough to Apparate, too!"

"Wait a minute," Ron objected, looking at her with some confusion. "Do you know how to Apparate already?"

"No," she admitted, begrudgingly. "But I'll be old enough to _learn_, won't I?"

"That doesn't help us much," Ron shrugged. He suddenly turned and looked at the wall once again. "I wonder if the Room could —"

But his thought was interrupted by a loud _crack_ as Dobby appeared next to them once again. "Friends of Harry Potter!" he squeaked anxiously. "They are telling Dobby that Harry Potter may not awaken again!" Hermione gasped in horror, and Ron looked stricken at the news.

"Oh no!" Hermione told Ron, tensely. "He must've been hurt worse than we thought!" She turned to Dobby again. "Dobby, can you help us get to St. Mungo's? Please? We _have_ to see him!"

"Dobby can take Harry Potter's friends there!" Dobby nodded vigorously, his large ears bobbing wildly as he did so. "But they must go now!" Reaching out, he took one of their hands in each of his and a moment later, with a loud _crack_, the three of them disappeared.

They appeared in the reception area of St. Mungo's, startling an old wizard who was reading an issue of _Witch Weekly_ with avid interest. After quickly thanking Dobby for bringing them there, Ron and Hermione hurried to the front of the room, where the Welcome Witch was warily watching them approach her. They stopped in front of her; Hermione, who was still trembling with anxiety for Harry, nevertheless composed herself, took a deep breath, and said, "We'd like to see — er —" she looked at Ron, who just looked back without comment, then turned back to the witch behind the desk. "Well, the rather large man who was brought in by the house-elf, if that's clear."

The witch almost smirked at her. "Oh, it's clear enough, dear. But he's being examined by one of our Teams right now — no visitors." She nodded toward the rows of wooden chairs behind them. "You can wait a while, if you like, and see if he gets any better."

"'_If_?'" Ron repeated, his voice going slightly shrill. "How badly was he hurt?"

The Welcome Witch shrugged. "Next!"

"I can't believe it," Hermione muttered, as Ron led her to pair of empty chairs not far from the doors leading further into the hospital.

"Well, at least we know what Harry's been up to these past few months," Ron said, as they sat down.

Hermione's eyebrows shot upward. "Ron, we know no such thing! We don't know _why_ Harry looks like that, _how_ he got that way, or _who_ he was fighting with, even though it was probably Malfoy! We don't even know when all this started, except it must've been after we fought —" her voice lowered dramatically "— fought the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. Why wouldn't he tell us what was going on?"

"I dunno," Ron shook his head. "He must've had his reasons, though."

"I can't believe you're defending him!" she hissed. "He didn't tell you, either!" She suddenly got a suspicious look. "He _didn't_ tell you, did he?"

"No, he didn't," Ron shook his head, starting to get a bit angry with Harry as well. "He _didn't_, did he? And me his best mate! What the hell was he thinking?"

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "All I can say is, he'd better have a _phenomenally_ good reason for not telling us!" Her stern expression suddenly faltered. "But — what if he doesn't make it? Oh Ron — what are we going to do if he — he…"

"Don't talk like that," Ron told her, bracingly. "He's going to pull through — he _has_ to!"

The two of them waited for nearly two hours, but there was no further word on the large, dark-haired man's condition. The Welcome Witch got so she would just shake her head at them when one or the other looked ready to walk up to the desk again.

"This is ridiculous," Hermione seethed, sitting back on her uncomfortable chair after starting to check once more and seeing the witch at the desk shake her head dolefully. She glanced at a clock on the wall of the reception area; it was a little before three a.m. "They can't tell us whether he's getting better or not?"

Ron answered with a gentle snore. She glanced over at him, seeing he slumped in his chair, his head nodding forward onto his chest. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. "Ron!"

Ron started. "I'm up, Mum, I'm up!" he mumbled, then looked around, realizing where he was. "Oh. What's up, did they tell you anything?"

"No," she replied, sullenly. "And you could at least _try_ to stay awake with me — we may not have much time to see him, if they come."

Ron covered a huge yawn. "At this rate," he muttered, "we might just as well try to find him ourselves, rather than wait."

Hermione looked at him. "Are you joking?"

Ron shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. "Well — yeah, I guess… I mean, it's just that we've been here a while and…"

Hermione leaned over closer to him. "I think it's a brilliant idea!" she said, smiling.

"You do?" Ron looked surprised. He glanced over at the Welcome Witch, who at the moment had a few new arrivals queued up in front of her desk. "D'you think we can sneak in without Miss Congeniality over there noticing we're gone?"

"She'll never notice we're gone," Hermione whispered. "Once she sends someone on their way, she forgets about them. We can walk in behind someone and I doubt she'll notice."

"What if she does?" Ron wondered.

"We can say we were looking for a restroom," Hermione improvised.

"Well, I'm game if you are," Ron said, grinning. "It's just too bad we didn't nick Harry's Invisibility Cloak, too. Would've made things a lot simpler."

They waited until the Welcome Witch directed an older witch and wizard through the doors, then discretely fell into step behind them, passing into the corridor beyond.

=ooo=

Voldemort instantly pointed his wand at the man who had suddenly appeared in their midst. "Identify yourself!" he demanded.

The man smirked at him. "Loki Laufeyson, at your service," he said, giving them a small, mocking bow. "I trust you recognize the name?"

"Loki?" Draco had recognized it. "The adopted son of Odin of Asgard?"

"The very one," Loki nodded. "I'm gratified to see some of you mortals keep up on such things."

"Bah," Voldemort said. "Enough of this foolishness! _Avada Kedavra_!" The green bolt shot from the Dark Lord's wand, disappearing into Loki's chest. Loki looked down at himself, then back up at Voldemort. He smiled. Narcissa and Bellatrix both gasped, seeing the stranger still standing.

"An interesting little spell," Loki mused, as Voldemort stared warily at him. "I could send it back to you, but you have some protection of your own, I see."

Voldemort looked puzzled for a moment, then realized he was still holding the axe he had taken from Draco. "You fear this?" he said, uncertainty, wondering how a wizard who could withstand a Killing Curse would be afraid of an enchanted axe, no matter how powerful it seemed to be.

"It was made to execute the mighty Thor, a son of Odin and prince of Asgard," Loki replied. "Even in the hands of a mortal like Draco, here, it is a formidable weapon."

Suddenly, the man's voice clicked into place for Draco. "It was _you_," he said, pointing at Loki. "You were in the Room of Requirement! You were the one who gave me the axe!"

"Astute observation, mortal," Loki replied, dryly. "Considering that I've been speaking for perhaps a minute now.

"What — what do you want with us?" Narcissa spoke up at last. She had already been badly shocked by the revelation of her older sister just minutes earlier, not to mention that the Dark Lord had threatened both her and her son with death — or worse.

"With _you_?" Loki waved a hand dismissively. "I have no interest in the petty affairs and schemes of foolish mortals, woman. My goals are much, much higher than anything you could imagine." He gestured toward Voldemort. "While your master desires to rule this pathetic little island, and the lands beyond it as well, someday, I plan to bring this entire world — indeed _all_ the Nine Worlds, under my rule."

"Impossible," Voldemort objected. "The tales of such worlds were merely exaggerations of the ancient Norse who were part of the Odin and Thor cults of a thousand years ago. There are no 'Nine Worlds' — only the Earth."

"And yet you believed in Thor's hammer Mjolnir, did you not?" Loki pointed out.

"I don't need to believe in it — I've _seen_ it!" Draco declared. Both men looked at him, and Draco realized his penchant for boasting had asserted itself at an inopportune moment. "I mean," he added hastily, "I've seen Potter use it."

"As have I," Voldemort coldly reminded him. "And well before you did, Draco."

Loki was smiling maliciously. "And you both thought you could be worthy of wielding it? How remarkably arrogant!" He shook his head at both of them. "The enchantments Odin placed upon Mjolnir when he created it make it impossible for anyone who is not worthy to lift the hammer."

"Potter was worthy," Voldemort sneered. "What makes you think _I_ am not worthy?"

Loki laughed derisively. "Perhaps the fact that you've polluted your body with foul magics in order to extend your life, and ripped your soul to shreds to maintain a presence here on Midgard, in spite of being more dead than alive now. Thor would have no trouble sending you on to whatever afterlife you believe in, were you and he to do battle now."

"But — but the axe!" Draco objected, pointing to the weapon Voldemort still held. "He was able to take the axe from me and strip me of its power! You told me it gave me power equal to Thor's!"

Loki laughed gustily. "Silly child! Of _course_ I told you that! I wanted you to do battle with Thor! Why do you think I am known as Loki the Trickster? Your foolish master here could not have overcome you and the axe if I had not been secretly helping him do so!"

"But I nearly _beat_ Thor!" Draco shouted, furious that once again, he'd been used.

"Yes, I was watching," Loki told him. "And I was a bit disappointed when you had him at your mercy and didn't follow through with the coup de grace. Ah well, even the best-laid plans of men and gods oft go astray."

"More so than you think," Voldemort said softly, hefting the axe as he did so. "I think the time has come to see why you fear this weapon, whoever you are." He crouched, hitting the handle of the axe on the floor. There was a blinding flash of light — a moment later both Bella and Narcissa gasped as they saw Voldemort transformed.

He stood again, and they saw that his body had become taller and more muscular, with silver and black armor just as Draco had worn when he first entered the manor. His features, still pale and snakelike, had taken on a harder aspect. "Now," he said triumphantly to Loki, "we will see whether if you are a true Asgardian — or merely a trickster in more than name!" He drew back the now-silver axe to throw it — as he did so, the axe began to glow with power. There was a blur of light, as if the Dark Lord had released a lightning bolt from his hands, and a tremendous BOOM and flash of light, along with a concussion that pushed Draco and the others in the room back several steps.

When Draco had blinked away the aftereffects of the flash, he saw Loki holding the axe in his outstretched hand—he had caught the weapon in mid-flight. Voldemort stared, in shock, as the Trickster slowly lowered the weapon, chuckling softly as he did so.

"I told you," he said, shaking his head; the outcome had been a foregone conclusion. He lowered the axe and gave the Dark Lord a look of mild reproach. "Mortal, you are far too used to winning your battles — you need to learn to expect the unexpected." Loki glanced at the gleaming silver weapon in his hand, and in a moment it transformed back to its original shape — that of a rusty, blood-stained battle axe. At the same time, Voldemort's form seemed to shrink as he lost height and muscle, until he was once again the skeletally-thin, pale, snakelike Dark Lord.

"Now that we've established who the most powerful being here is," Loki said, tossing the battle axe aside. "I would like to make a bargain with you."

"A bargain?" Voldemort had not expected this turn of events. He had been preparing to flee the manor, leaving Bellatrix and the Malfoy boy and his mother to deal with this powerful madman. "Why would you need anything from us?"

"Potter will be here shortly, I expect," Loki replied. "Looking for young Draco, who nearly killed him a few hours ago, with a bit of help from me," he added, smiling thinly. "Another few seconds and… ah, well, as I said, sometimes plans go astray.

"Once he recovers, I'm sure he will want a rematch, and I expect he will show up on your doorstep, spoiling for a fight. I intend for you to give him one."

"You think we should fight your battles for you?" Draco spoke up, angered at the idea of Loki using them for his own gain.

"Well, it is my _thing_, after all," Loki said matter-of-factly. "I prefer to think my way through battles rather than actually fighting them myself. But isn't the death of Harry Potter something you've been trying to attain, and failing at, these many long years?" he looked at Voldemort cunningly. "Do you not wish him dead?"

"Yes," Voldemort agreed. "But _I_ intend to be the instrument of his death, not a pawn in your games."

"Ah. Well, then," Loki said, feigning disappointment. "I suppose I'll just have to toddle back to Asgard and wait until Potter destroys you and takes over control of Britain, then the world, as the power lust takes over his mind and he realizes the true capabilities of Thor's Hammer…" he began to fade away.

"Wait!" both Draco and Voldemort shouted. They looked at one another in surprise, then Voldemort continued, as Loki faded back to solidity.

"Surely, though, Potter is too weak to use the Hammer that way," he temporized.

"You might be surprised what Potter is capable of, now that he has Mjolnir," Loki pointed out. "But I do not intend to give him the opportunity to try. The Hammer belongs to the real Thor, lost somewhere on Earth for more than thirty years. _He_ is the rightful owner of Mjolnir, not Potter."

"If I help you," Voldemort asked. "What do you offer in return? I see no reason not to think you will have no further use for me, afterwards."

"On the contrary," Loki replied. "I will need strong warlords here on Midgard, to rule the other mortals in my stead. You would rule over Britain — this entire region, in fact — if you join me." Loki glanced toward Draco. "Or — perhaps the boy will take me up on my offer, if you refuse…"

"I accept," Voldemort said immediately.

"Excellent," Loki grinned at him. "I knew you would see things my way, mortal."

Draco, his mother and her sister looked at one another. _What was going to happen to them_? Draco wondered. Seeing the looks pass between them, Loki turned to the other three humans in the room. There had been a fourth human here earlier, he knew, but he had long since scurried away — Loki did not detect his presence anywhere within the residence.

"Your master has made a fortunate decision in joining with me," he told them, then turned and stepped next to the fireplace at the head of the room. "Well, fortunate for _me_, that is," he added with a broad grin. "Now that I have met a few members of your family, Draco, let me introduce you to one of mine…"

As he gestured toward the fireplace, flames seemed to erupt from the floor, belching great billows of smoke into the room, A form was suddenly visible amidst the flames: a tall, powerfully built woman, dressed in green and black robes of finest material.

"What the —?" Draco stepped back, as did his mother and Bellatrix, as the woman stepped forward, regarding them with haughty indifference. "Who the hell is this?"

"An apt question," Loki smiled. "This is my daughter, Hela. With her help — and yours, mortal," he added, looking at the Dark Lord, "We shall trick Harry Potter into doing battle with you a final time, to his everlasting regret."

"Good," Voldemort hissed. "It is indeed an unfortunate day for Potter!"

"And for _you_, mortal," Hela said coldly, extending a hand and taking hold of his neck. Voldemort tried to wrench himself away, but her grip held him like iron. "You should have examined your bargain with Loki more closely before accepting. But that is the way of your kind — you so often do not look before you leap."

"What — are — you — _doing_?" Voldemort managed to gasp.

"Just setting the trap for Potter," Loki said airily. "Don't worry — we'll put this body of yours to good use before we're through with it."

Voldemort screamed as everything around him faded to black.

=ooo=

Harry rolled over the bed, landing on the floor next to the wardrobe Joe had pointed to as containing his tunic, cloak and helmet. He reached for the handle, but the wardrobe was locked.

"They probably don't want you leaving before they make sure you're okay," Joe told him.

"Do you have a key for this?" Harry asked, ignoring the comment He didn't want to have to break it open, but there was no time to waste —

"Harry, is that you?" a voice suddenly whispered from the door of the ward, and Harry winced in recognition. He looked over at the door. Hermione was standing there, staring at him in shock.

"Harry? Who's he?" Harry replied in a querulous voice, trying to bluff his way out of the situation, but Hermione crossed her arms and gave him a severe look, one that might have startled even Professor McGonagall.

"Don't try to pretend it's not you," she said, sternly. "Ron and I have been looking for you for _hours_ now." She looked away for a moment. "Pssst! He's in here, Ron!" Harry heard her whisper. A moment later she was joined by the tall, lanky form of his best friend, Ronald Weasley, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise at seeing Harry's state of undress.

"Whoa! Looking huge there, Harry! You been working out?" Ron quipped, though he was also more than a bit envious of Harry's new body. Why couldn't _he_ have the kind of luck Harry had?

"Oh, don't encourage him," Hermione snapped. "He's got some explaining to do!" She marched into the room with Ron on her heels. "What the _hell_ were you thinking, Harry Potter, keeping this — this —" she made a gesture of exasperation at him "— _whatever_ this is — from us?"

"Do me a favor," Harry said, feeling highly embarrassed by his state of undress, pointing at the wardrobe. "Unlock this thing, will you, so I can get my clothes on?"  
"And now you're asking _favors_ from me?" Hermione said, her voice going shrill. "What if I don't?"

"Then I'm going to break it," Harry told her, trying to maintain his calm thought the urgency of getting his hammer (and his clothes) back was beginning to make him lose patience. Hermione had no idea how much danger they could be in if Draco had somehow taken Mjolnir — as impossible as that seemed. But with the axe he'd somehow gotten hold of, there was no telling what he was capable of doing now.

Hermione, meanwhile, had marched up to him, looking up at him with a mixture of relief and annoyance. "This is hardly the way for me to repay St. Mungo's for saving your life, but — _Alohomora_!" As she waved her wand at the wardrobe, there was a _click_ and the door unlocked. Harry pulled open the wardrobe, taking out the blue leather tunic. There was still a rip on its left side, where Draco's axe had penetrated the metal plate fastened there, but it would have to do. He unfastened the magical bindings making it seem to be a pullover, then shrugged a brawny arm into each hole and fastened it up again.

"You got somewhere to be?" Ron asked, trying to sound casual.

Harry took out the red cloak and fastened it across his shoulders. "How did you two find me here?" he asked over his shoulder.

"We _found_ you," Hermione replied, icily, "in the Room of Requirement, looking like you'd lost a fight with a meat chopper — which probably wasn't far wrong, considering who broke down the door and disappeared out a window before we went in there!"

"What — what did you see?" Harry asked, reaching into the wardrobe a final time and taking out his helmet. There was a deep crease in the top of the helmet. Harry tried to push it out, but the helmet, which seemed to be made of the same material as Mjolnir, resisted him. He must not be back to his full strength yet.

"Harry, just what the bloody hell is going on?" Even Ron had finally lost patience with him. "What's with all this secrecy? I can understand you keeping all this from Hermione —" he jerked a thumb at her "— but why not tell _me_?"

"Oh, _well_ — thank you very much!" Hermione turned on Ron, glaring at him. "It's all right for Harry to keep secrets from _me_, but when he keeps them from _you_ —!"

"It's a guy thing," Ron shrugged, trying to make light of his comment.

It didn't work. "A _guy_ thing?" she looked at Ron disbelievingly. "Harry suddenly turns into some ancient Norse legend and you say it's a _guy thing_?"

"Are these your friends?" Joe, who had said nothing since Hermione and Ron entered the room, spoke up suddenly.

Harry stopped fiddling with his helmet. "Oh, yeah," he nodded, as if it should have been obvious. "Can't you tell by how happy they are to see me?"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Hermione spun around to face Harry again. "Don't you know how _worried_ we were about you, Harry? Malfoy — that was him in the room, wasn't it? — Malfoy ran out of the Room and jumped out the window, like I said. We don't know what happened with him. We ran inside and found you in there, lying on the floor with that awful cut on your chest and blood coming from under the helmet you were wearing, and —"

"Was Malfoy carrying a hammer when he jumped out of the window?" Harry suddenly asked.

"—and we didn't know what to do, then Ron suddenly called out for Dobby and he showed up and…" Hermione trailed off as Harry's question finally filtered through. "— a hammer?"

"Yeah, a hammer!" Harry said, tensely. "A big, square gray-metal hammer?"

Hermione and Ron stared at each other. "Harry," she practically shouted at him, "who _gives_ a bloody fig what he was carrying?"

"Hermione," Harry said, looking at his friends. "Ron — I have to find that hammer! It's really Mjolnir?"

"The Norse god Thor's hammer?" Hermione said, looking at him doubtfully. "That can't be real — can it?"

"It was that large stick I found in the Department of Mysteries," Harry nodded. "It was supposed to be a 'giant's wand,' but it was really a cane in disguise." Joe started, staring at Harry, but Harry didn't notice. "If Malfoy didn't take it from the Room of Requirement, then it should still be there! We've got to get back —"

"Just call for it," Joe said.

They all turned toward him. "Call for it," Joe said again, his eyes seeming to look into the distance. "It will always come at Thor's call," he said, almost in a trance. Moving as if he were in a dream, Joe let his right hand rise into the air. "Mjolnir," he said softly. "Come to me…"

Ron, Hermione, and even Harry were staring at the older man in surprise, wondering what would happen next. The ward had fallen completely silent, until — there was a faint shudder, repeated again a moment later, and again and again, growing louder until the entire room seemed to be shaking.

"What's going on?" Ron shouted, as another loud CRASH seemed to come from just above them.

Joe — or Donald Blake, as Harry was now sure this is who he was — had not moved despite the shuddering crashes coming closer and closer. This was one of Mjolnir's powers, Harry now recalled — that nothing, but _nothing_, could keep it from returning to Thor when he called it.

With a final loud CRASH, Thor's hammer broke through the ceiling of Ward Four, hovering in the air for a moment before swooping toward Blake's outstretched hand. At the last moment, however, a brawny arm reached out and snatched it from the air.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, who had caught the hammer before Blake could touch it. "There's one more thing I must do before I return this hammer to you. I am afraid Malfoy took the enchanted axe he fought me with to give to Voldemort — and if that's true, there's no telling what danger we could all be in."

"Harry!" Hermione said warningly. "Malfoy nearly killed you the last time you fought him and that axe!"

"I know it," Harry agreed. "And that's why I have to stop him, and Voldemort, now — to prove myself truly worthy of holding this hammer before I return it to its rightful owner."

Blake lowered his hand. "It's been a long time since I held Mjolnir," he told Harry. "But I will grant you the favor of this final battle. May Odin be with you!"

Harry nodded. "Thank you," he said, then looked upward at the channel Mjolnir had made on its way into the hospital. Pointing Mjolnir upward, he said "_Reparo_!" then watched as the floors magically mended themselves in seconds. He repeated the spell and the rip in his tunic mended itself; the crease in his helmet flattened out with a loud _clang_. Harry placed the helmet on his head, then nodded a final time to Blake, Hermione and Ron.

"I will return after dealing with Voldemort." Harry then spun the hammer round and round, willing himself toward Wiltshire and Malfoy Manor. A sudden gust of wind, coming from nowhere, lifted him into the air, and he vanished.

=ooo=

Harry appeared a moment later on the front lawn of the Malfoy estate. Dawn had just broken in Wiltshire — Harry had not been able to tell inside St. Mungo's how much time had passed since he'd been knocked out. He'd also felt a bit muddled, his thoughts somewhat fuzzy since he'd awakened.

Once he'd held Mjolnir again, however, his head had cleared up immediately and he felt revitalized. It was going to be difficult giving Mjolnir back to Blake, he knew; he was quite attached to it now. But there was another thing to look forward to, he remembered — Odin had promised to help him find Sirius, wherever the Veil had taken him. That would keep him going, no matter what. Now, he thought, he would just have to get that axe away from Malfoy, or Voldemort if need be, then return to St. Mungo's with the two weapons and return Mjolnir to Blake, who could then resume his role as Thor. Perhaps, Harry thought, he might be allowed to keep the axe; it might prove to be almost as powerful as the Hammer.

As Harry started toward the front doors of the manor, he felt a pair of hidden eyes on him. Using Mjolnir to inconspicuously cast an omnidirectional detection spell, Harry discovered the identity of his watcher — it was Peter Pettigrew, otherwise known as Wormtail, the ex-Marauder turned Death Eater that had betrayed his parents to Voldemort fifteen years ago. Harry glanced in the direction his spell had told him the rat was hidden, and Peter blanched seeing Harry staring his way. Harry had no time for him now, however; he had a bigger rat — or rather, snake — to take care of at the moment.

The front doors to the manor were broken inward, as if someone had battered them down. Harry frowned; Malfoy would have the strength, now, but why would he break down the doors of his own home? He stopped at the door, listening, but there were no sounds coming from the inside. It was almost as if he were expected, though. He would have to be on his guard, in case Malfoy had set an ambush for him.

The inside of the manor was ostentatious, even for a pureblood family, with large, sumptuous hallway, with exquisitely decorated wood panels and a large, ornate carpet covering most of the stone floor. There were rows of portraits lining the walls of the hallway, though only a few lamps for lighting — it was very dim there, though Harry could see well enough. He seemed to hear muffled whispering around him, as if the pictures themselves were talking — and they undoubted were, as wizards portraits could move and talk, unlike Muggle pictures. Even now Harry suspected they were informing his "hosts" that he had entered their home. He hoped he would not have to wait long before someone presented themselves.

At last, a high, clear voice spoke from within one of the rooms. "Ah, Potter is here at last, I see. This way, Harry." Harry stopped next to a door about halfway down the hall, listening for a moment, then opening the door and stepping inside.

At the top of the room stood Voldemort, staring calmly at him with his wand held idly in his long, white hands. Closer to the center of the room Harry saw Draco, back in his normal form, with his mother Narcissa and aunt Bellatrix. Harry managed to suppress the feelings of rage Bellatrix inspired in him — he was not here for her, he reminded himself, but to deal with Draco and Voldemort. But if she gave him any trouble, Harry promised himself, she'd get it back tenfold.

Curiously, however, neither Draco nor the women with him looked unhappy to see him; quite the reverse, in fact — they seemed relieved, somehow, that he was here. Harry spared them only a glance, however, before turning to face Voldemort.

"I'm here for the axe that Draco had," he stated flatly. Voldemort didn't react for several seconds, then turned slowly to look off to one side of the room. Harry followed his gaze to an old, rusted battle-axe.

"Is that the weapon you mean?" Voldemort said, his voice oddly calm. Harry pointed Mjolnir at the axe, and it floated into the air and over to him. He looked at it carefully; it seemed to be the weapon Draco had held before rapping its handle against the floor in the Room of Requirement and transforming himself and it into much more powerful versions of themselves.

"Yes," Harry said, not completely understanding but thinking that perhaps the enchantment, or whatever it had been that had changed Draco had worn off and was no longer useful to them. "I'm taking this with me." He turned to go.

"I've been waiting for you," Voldemort spoke up again. "But it seems you do not recognize me, do you, my ancient foe?"

Harry stopped, looking around at the Dark Lord once again. _Ancient foe_? "Sixteen years is hardly enough time to consider us 'ancient foes,' Tom," he replied.

"Perhaps," Voldemort was smiling now; he took a step forward, and Harry felt an odd tremor, as if he house had actually shaken with his step. But that was…impossible. "But then, you are not really my ancient foe, after all — you are a mere poseur, a small boy masquerading as a mighty warrior, aren't you?"

"What are you talking about, Riddle?" Harry faced him once again, now beginning to feel provoked. "If you're spoiling for a fight, you're picking the wrong time for it! I wouldn't need much encouragement to mop this place with you."

Voldemort chuckled. "I might be more afraid of you, Potter — _if_ I were Tom Riddle. But I'm not him, any more than you are Thor. Otherwise, you would remember our last meeting, when you were in Hymir's boat."

Harry shook his head. This wasn't making any sense. "I don't know what you're talking about," he demurred.

"A pity," Voldemort _tsked_. "I was hoping for a bit of battle from you, before I fulfilled the prophecy with your death."

Well, _now_ they were back on more familiar ground! "Not going to happen," he said, flatly. "The last time we fought, you grabbed Bellatrix and ran from the Ministry like a scalded dog — I don't think you're got a chance of defeating me, Riddle."

"I've told you, I am not Riddle," the skeletal figure before him said again. "And the prophecy I speak of is not between this Riddle and you, Potter, but between Thor and Jormungand."

"Jormungand? I don't know that —"

"Perhaps you know him by his title of 'Midgard Serpent?'" Voldemort suggested.

"I —" there was a memory of that in his head, Harry recalled—something Odin had told him of Ragnarok, the end of the world in Asgardian prophecy. "But the Midgard Serpent is supposed to be huge, large enough to encircle the world."

"And so he does," Voldemort nodded. 'In ethereal form, immaterial and unseen by mortals, unless he wishes to make his presence felt, by tightening his coils about Midgard, causing storms and disasters — or until there is reason to become material again, and fight his sworn and eternal enemy, the Thunderer."

Voldemort's grin had become wider and wider, until it seemed like his face would split open. Then — it _did_, the head and body sloughing away and a large, reptilian head and body emerging from Riddle's corpse. It rose upward, effortlessly pushing the ceiling of the room out of its way until it was poised above Harry and the others, a gigantic creature that towered fifty feet or more, with a large, dragon-like head and two long, arms with heavy claws. Looking down on Harry, the creature hissed, "Today, we will discover which of us will fall into Hela's cold embrace — and it will not be me!"


	12. Thor's Bane

**Harry Thunderer and the Uru Hammer**

**Chapter Twelve**  
**"Thor's Bane"**

_Updated 3 December 2010_

Children of Midgard, hearken to this tale,  
Of Thor Odinson who strode bravely to battle.  
No father heard his cry, no friend gave him aid,  
Alone against his bane, the Thunderer strove.  
With Loki's terrible son, Jormungand.  
He slew that ancient evil, serpent of the world,  
So the son of gods embraced his doom.  
Would you know more?

Harry stared up in horror, momentarily frozen with panic at the monstrosity Voldemort had become. The Midgard Serpent — had it really appeared before him here, at Malfoy Manor, rising from the body of the Dark Lord? The Serpent was, according to Odin, Thor's doom — they would kill one another at the end of the world, what the Asgardians called _Ragnarok_.

Harry glanced toward Malfoy and the others with him, hoping they were fleeing as the walls of Malfoy Manor began to crumble from the damaged caused by the Serpent's rising above them. But they seemed frozen with fear, until Harry realized — _nothing_ around him was moving; it was as if time had stopped, he could see birds frozen in mid-flight in the sky above them.

"Prepare to die, little worm," Jormungand hissed, swaying above him. By now the monster had become impossibly huge — his jaws stretched twenty feet or more across, with huge fangs — the _smallest_ was longer than him in height. It made the Basilisk look like a garden snake. "It will be almost too easy to kill you — you could never be a match for the _real_ Thor."

The Serpent slammed its massive jaws down where Harry and the others were standing — only to ram through the floor, his jaws filled with nothing but wood and furniture, as Harry transported Malfoy, his mother and even Bellatrix away. They appeared a moment later nearly 80 miles away, in London, just outside the Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross Road. He had expected a few stares from passersby as they appeared, but everyone else in view was also frozen. It was as if time had stopped.

"_Potter_," a heavy reptilian voice rippled through the air. The Serpent was speaking to him across the miles separating them. "_Why did you run away? This is your big chance to prove yourself… Come out, come out, wherever you are_," it added, threateningly. "_Or I shall begin tearing this world apart, one city at a time, until you fight me. Behold my power_—" There was a sound of crashing, crunching metal, and Harry threw his Hammer straight up, letting it pull him into the sky, to see what had happened. What he saw made him gasp in horror.

Loops of the Serpent's coils had risen out of the Thames River, smashing bridges and overturning barges and other boats navigating the river. Debris and bodies were floating in mid-air — time had stopped for them once the Serpent's body had pushed them aside. "_Fight me or not_ — _the choice is yours_…"

Furious anger welled within Harry's heart — the Serpent had just made this personal, killing people he — Thor — had sworn to protect! Harry gripped the handle of Mjolnir and willed himself back to Wiltshire. He appeared high in the air over the Serpent, who immediately sensed his presence.

Bright was the day, beneath the sun,  
As they rose golden into the glad sky.  
A song sang in the breasts of the foemen,  
A chorus heralding the end of hatred.  
The battlefield would decide their fate,  
Ere the sun would set, neither would walk home.

"I see you came back, little worm," Jormungand hissed happily, sizing himself up against Harry. It was even bigger now than before — Harry could see its coils stretching miles into the distance, draped carelessly over the English countryside; its bulk had crushed trees and flattened hills beneath it. "You're not much of a mouthful, but you should be a tasty morsel, nonetheless — an appetizer, as it were, to begin my feast on the mortals." Jormungand's jaws opened, a yaw the size of a cave, and almost lazily, it lunged for Harry.

But if the Serpent had expected Harry to be paralyzed with fear, it had guessed wrong. Mjolnir jerked upward, pulling Harry away from the massive head, but only just above it, as Harry put both hands on the handle and slung it downward, landing with a tremendous CRUNCH on the Serpent's forehead. With a resounding BOOM, Jormungand slammed into ground.

"Ah, so my dinner wishes to play a bit, does it?" the Serpent said, shaking its head as it reared upward again, hissing angrily. "You are going to wish you'd never seen that Hammer, little worm — after I've smashed you flat, I'm going to chew you _quite_ slowly, to make sure I digest you properly. After all, it's not every day that I get to eat a son of Odin, even an adopted one — oh, yes, I've heard that," the Serpent added, seeing Harry's look of surprise. "You'd be amazed how fast gossip travels, even to the depths of the oceans. And — _surprise_!"

Harry, watching the Serpent's swaying head warily, had forgotten that its length extended literally for scores of miles around them. A long coil had come up suddenly behind Harry, slamming into him like a mountain rearing up to swat him, and Harry flew headlong into Jormungand's gaping mouth, which snapped shut with a sound like the crack of doom.

For a moment Jormungand held that pose, grinning like he proverbial Cheshire Cat, its teeth a row of gleaming tombs — but then, with a tremendous blow, Mjolnir slammed through them, breaking and knocking out dozens of fangs as Harry soared free from the monster's jaws. Jormungand screamed, a wail that would have toppled mountains, if time were passing in the world.

The world-girding serpent arose in wrath  
Shaking the hills, tortured by hammer-blows  
The Earth groaned under Midgard's guardian  
Beneath Thor's foe, the hills broke.

As the Serpent reeled in agony, Harry landed heavily on a hilltop some miles hence, shaking with the nearness of what he'd gone through. His cloak was torn — that was how close the Serpent's teeth had come to ripping him apart. And he had to face a very unpleasant fact about this situation — he was _afraid_.

Harry did not want to die. After he'd fought Voldemort, some months ago, and realized even his Cruciatus Curse could not stop him, he'd ceased being afraid of the Dark Lord — he could be tackled any time Harry wanted to. And after being adopted by Odin himself, Harry was sure he could handle anything thrown at him, even Dumbledore, if it came to that. No human wizard on Earth could match the sheer power of Mjolnir. He could easily defeat any Dark wizards he came up against, as Thor. And Malfoy and his axe? He had merely gotten in a lucky blow, Harry rationalized — he would have found _some_ way to defeat him, if whatever distracted Malfoy hadn't drawn him away from the Room of Requirement back, apparently, to Malfoy Manor.

But the _Midgard Serpent_ was something beyond his reckoning. He'd killed the Basilisk with Godric Gryffindor's Sword, and his life, ebbing away from a puncture by a venom-filled fang, had been saved by Fawke's tears — but how could he fight something as big as the whole _world_, even with a weapon like Mjolnir? The Serpent was Thor's _wyrd_, his destiny, the-thing-that-would-kill-him! How was he, Harry Potter, going to kill something that was destined to kill a _god_?

Jormungand had recovered, and was glaring at Harry across the miles with malevolent, hate-filled eyes, its pupils flashed red with fire. "Well ssstruck, little worm," he hissed, through broken teeth. "There'sss more life in you than I gave you credit for. It will make your death that much sssweeter."

"Then come on, you big, ugly snake," Harry said, more to himself than to the Serpent. "If you're going to kill me, you'll have to work for it!" He leapt into the air again, flying not toward Jormungand's head but toward one of its coils looped across the countryside, slamming Mjolnir into its thick hide and knocking off chunks of broken scales. The advantage of its size was also a disadvantage — Harry could attack a portion of the Serpent's body, then fly away before it could react.

Neither asked quarter, neither cried enough,  
Their _wyrds_ held them bound and chained to the wheel.  
In their fury they tore Midgard asunder,  
Hatred alive forever in these terrible foes.

Harry had struck the monster a dozen times before nearly flying into a red mist that suddenly shot from the beast's window-sized nostrils. Harry avoided it instinctively, and Mjolnir's power revealed to him what the vapor was — poison, more deadly than basilisk venom, and lethal even to an Asgardian body such as his.

"This is becoming tiresome," Jormungand said, in a bored tone, after his third miss in trying to breathe upon Harry. "Such a little worm, delaying my dinner for so long. If you're trying to hold off the inevitable, Potter — you should know by now that no mortal on Earth can help you. Even Asgard and Hel can but look on, now — the All-Father is much too busy preparing for what he believes is the Last Day to render aid to his adopted, mortal son in Thor's clothing."

"Then it's just you and me," Harry muttered, dodging another gust of noxious breath from the Serpent. Remembering at last one of the most basic functions of his hammer, he landed some distance from the Serpent, then hove Mjolnir at the beast's head. It collided with one of the monster's horns, snapping it off with a loud CRACK, and Jormungand howled and hissed, then showed another of its deadly weapons — fire belched from its mouth, forcing Harry to leap aside, catching Mjolnir in mid-air as it flew past him, drawing him further from the flames.

They traded hammer-throws and fire bursts, with Harry's blows landing even as he dodged the flames, but they did not seem to slow the monster down. Harry was beginning to wonder if the Serpent was correct — was he merely delaying the inevitable by prolonging this fight? He had wounded the beast several times, and had thus far escaped any major injuries, but how much longer before he began to slow, to weaken from the constant exertion of battle? How long before a massive coil of the Serpent's body crushed him into the ground, or its foul breath filled his lungs with poison?

_You have no choice_, an inner voice reminded him. _You are protecting everyone on Earth, not just your own life_! Grimly, Harry hefted Mjolnir and leapt again into battle.

The Earth trembled at Thor's touch  
Drenched with blood and fire, the fearful sun  
Hid its face. Locked in Fate's embrace,  
They had no hope of victory, only glory and doom.

In far-off Asgard Heimdall, standing at the edge of that world on the Rainbow Bridge, surveyed Midgard from his vantage point. His eyes, sharper by far than any eagle, falcon or other bird of prey, roved across the planet, watching the mortals in their mundane, work-a-day tasks. They hardly seemed to be moving at all, Heimdall noted with amusement.

Then, on closer inspection, he realized — they _weren't_ moving! Mortals were frozen in mid-step everywhere he looked — their motor conveyances were still, even their flying machines hung in the air, unmoving. Wherever the pale guardian of Asgard looked, he saw nothing moving upon the earth, in the air, or under the waters. Until he saw —

"By the Root!" Heimdall exclaimed, seeing the two embattled figures vying with one another — the small but valiant warrior striving against the world-girding monster, scion of Loki. "This cannot be! Is the Last Day 'pon us so soon? But I must alert the Aesir and the nine worlds!" So saying, Heimdall brought out a golden horn and, clapping it to his lips, blew loudly.

Heimdall's horn blared, louder the trumpet's blast,  
In his cave cowered the Hel-hound Garm.  
Odin's warrior offspring, Loki's great worm,  
Each measured his foe, his heart foreboding,  
As the Fates measured their lives' lengths.

The horn's sound echoed across Asgard and the nine worlds, reaching even unto Earth itself, where both Harry and the Serpent heard it. "Ah — Heimdall finally noticed aught was amiss here on Midgard," Jormungand chuckled, spitting a broken fang toward Harry with the force of a missile; it narrowly missed him, embedding itself in the earth some miles away. "Good — now Odin and Asgard will see the end of hope, as we cut to the chase and I destroy you forever."

Harry said nothing. What should he say to this monster, whose only goal seemed to be his destruction? His muscles were trembling from fatigue, now — but even more from the sense of helplessness he'd had throughout this fight. He'd allowed himself to be led by this battle, to fight the beast on its terms, hoping there would be a way for him to avoid killing it.

But that was _not_ why they were here. They were here to kill one another. That was the prophecy Odin spoke of — and if there was anything left of Voldemort, of the prophecy he and Harry shared as well. _Neither could live while the other survived_. That might hold just as true if they were _both_ dead.

The battlesongs, in hope and hatred begun,  
Sang no longer. Silence gripped the Earth.  
The worlds were frozen; even Heaven watched,  
Their eyes locked. Would you know more?

Harry and Jormungand stared at each other. The gigantic serpent was gathering himself for an all-out lunge, a death-thrust — Harry stared at the runes on the side of the hammer. He still could not read runes, but he knew by heart what the symbols on Mjolnir meant:

**WHOSOEVER HOLDS THIS HAMMER  
****_IF HE BE WORTHY  
_****SHALL POSSESS THE POWER OF  
****THOR**

"'If he be worthy,'" Harry repeated to himself. Those words were the very core of what it meant to possess the power of Thor. If he was to _be_ worthy, he must _act_ worthy — and that meant fulfilling his charge as protector of Earth, even at the cost of his life, if need be.

Yet, while he'd hurt the Serpent, Mjolnir had not scored a decisive hit against it — Jormungand had shrugged off his lesser blows, strikes that would have reduced any man or beast on Earth to jelly. There was nothing left to try —

— except, Harry suddenly remembered, the _eighth_ enchantment!

Harry began spinning the hammer at his side. As he did so, both he and the hammer began to glow, combining all his strength and all Mjolnir's power into a single, cataclysmic blow. As Jormungand lunged forward, Harry threw Mjolnir, and himself, now both glowing as bright as the sun, toward the monster. "For Odin! For ASGARD!" Harry roared, flying straight toward the Serpent's forehead even as the monster released its foul breath a final time. Too late, Jormungand realized that Harry had invoked the full power of the Hammer. There was a blinding flash and a thunderous shockwave that was felt, somehow, throughout the nine worlds, from Asgard to Niflheim.

So, Mjolnir's mighty wielder,  
Surrendered gladly his guardianship of mortals.  
Odin's son embraced his doom without despair,  
Slew the Serpent, broke the world's silence.

The force of the collision knocked down trees for miles around and set the very hills shaking. Jormungand, its head crushed by the hammer blow, dropped to the ground, becoming ethereal and insubstantial, so that except for the ravages to the countryside it was as if it had never been there.

Harry, knocked unconscious by the blast, regained his senses as he fell. He spun in mid-air, landing heavily, but on his feet, then stood upright. His lungs were on fire — he had breathed in the Serpent's poison. He looked upward, seeing birds flying overhead. The world was alive once again, even though it had cost him his life. There would be no last-minute rescue from Fawkes.

Harry looked around slowly for Mjolnir; it had fallen nearby. If he could reach it, he could return to Ron, Hermione, and Donald Blake, back at St. Mungo's. It would be…good…to see his friends a final time, and he had promised to return the Hammer to its rightful owner. But with each step he took, his feet became heavier and heavier, until at last he could go no further. Harry fell forward —

Nine steps the hero took, striding as a giant,  
To earth he fell, recking not his resting place.  
Silent his hammer, Mjolnir's song ended  
This tale is told. Would you know more?*

Harry Potter was dead.

=ooo=

*Author's Note: The poem "Mjolnir's Song" by Walter Simonson, is from The Mighty Thor, Vol. 1, #380 June 1987.

Next: The conclusion!


	13. Hell, Most Deep and Cold

**Harry Thunderer and the Uru Hammer**

**Chapter Thirteen  
****"Hell, Most Deep and Cold"**

_Updated 2 January 2011_

"Whoa," Ron said, after Harry disappeared from the room. "That was pretty intense!"

Hermione gave him an even look. For her part, she was still unhappy that Harry had never told them about something this important. Her expression softened a bit, however, as she turned to the older man standing beside Harry's empty bed.

"Sir, can you tell me who you are, please?"

The man smiled, a row of perfect white teeth within his graying, golden beard. "For many years I was simply Joe, or Joe the orderly. Before I came here, however, I was Doctor Donald Blake, a medical student from America. I was on holiday in Norway with a colleague of mine, a nurse named Jane Foster, when we were attacked by three large monsters.

"Though I was lame, I convinced Jane to hide while I drew them away from her. I lost my cane, but found a cave to hide in. However the monsters discovered me and one grabbed me. Joe shook his head in disgust. "Even now I can remember the stench of the vile thing! I had grabbed a stick, something to defend myself with, but before I could do anything my head struck something and I was knocked out. I came some time later, in this place —" he indicated the building they were in. "— without a memory of who I was or where I'd been. When I recovered enough to get around again, a few of the folks here helped me find odd jobs and duties to perform. They believed I was a — a Squib, from America, and let me stay on here as an orderly."

"But," Hermione said, slowly. "You _aren't_ a Squib, are you?" Blake shook his head. "When — when that hammer appeared," she went on. "It seemed that you called for it, somehow — it was coming to _you_, not Harry!"

"Yes," Blake said. "I remembered that Mjolnir always returns to Thor, wherever it is, when he calls to it."

"And so, you're…" Hermione couldn't bring herself to say the same aloud. "How did Harry come to have the hammer?"

"I do not know," Blake shook his head. "He came to the hospital several weeks ago, looking for me, but I had no memory then of who I was."

"How did you figure it out?" Ron asked.

"I have been thinking about that since the last time I saw the hammer," Blake replied. "There was something familiar about it, something I seemed to…recognize, in some way, though I didn't know why. When he mentioned that it had been found in a cave, earlier, everything suddenly came back to me in a rush."

"Do you think Harry will be okay?" Hermione asked anxiously. "He was nearly killed earlier by the person he went after just now."

"Harry is one of the few mortals worthy of wielding Mjolnir," Blake said, nodding. "That alone convinces me he will be able to defeat the one who attacked him earlier. He —" Blake stopped talking as a tremor suddenly passed through the building. "But wait — something strange is happening —"

There was a violent jerk as the entire floor seemed to heave beneath them, throwing Ron and Hermione off their feet and shifting most of the beds across the floor. Several cracks appeared in the ceilings and walls of the room. Blake, somehow, remained on his feet.

"What — what happened?" Hermione gasped, as she and Ron scrambled to their feet once again.

"Something terrible, I fear," Blake said, looking upward, seemingly at nothing. "But also something magnificent. I can sense…" he held out his hand again. "Mjolnir," he whispered. "Come to me…"

There was several seconds of utter silence. Ron and Hermione both watched intently as Blake stood stock-still, his arm outstretched, waiting…

A few seconds later there was a rumble as Mjolnir burst through one of the cracks in the ceiling, this time flying unerringly into Blake's hand. A blast of lightning filled the room, dazzling the two Hogwarts students momentarily. When they could see again, Donald Blake was gone.

In his place was a tall, golden-haired warrior, proudly holding the Hammer aloft. "Thor has returned!" he shouted, his voice now deep and commanding. Lowering the hammer, he looked at the two of them.

"I must go," he said, and his voice held sorrow within it. "And learn what has become of your friend, Harry Potter."

But as Thor raised his hammer to depart, Hermione stepped forward quickly. "Take us with you!" she said, urgently. "We need to know what happened as well!"

Thor appeared doubtful at first. "It may not be something your young eyes should see," he said, shaking his gold-maned head.

But Ron stepped forward as well. "He's our best mate," he said, earnestly. "We need to know…"

At last Thor nodded. "As you wish. I will have Mjolnir return us to the place whence it came." So saying, he stepped between the two of them and raised the Hammer high; in a flash of light the three figures disappeared from St. Mungo's.

=ooo=

They appeared a moment later in Wiltshire, not far from where Malfoy Manor once stood. Hermione blanched, horrified by the destruction around her, and even Thor shook his head at the ravages to the surrounding countryside. It looked as if a horde of marauding giants had stormed through the countryside, smashing everything in their path.

"That must've been some fight," Ron breathed in awe.

"It was," Thor said, grimly. "But no two mortal wizards could have caused this. It was not Voldemort who fought your friend, but Jormungand, the Midgard Serpent."

"The Midgard Serpent?" Hermione repeated. "But I thought that monster must be a myth."

"Some have said _I_ am a myth," Thor pointed out. "Especially after Asgard ascended to the heavens."

Hermione stared at the Asgardian quizzically. "What do you mean by that?"

But Thor shook his head. "We have no need to discuss this." He pointed to a figure crumpled on the ground some distance away. "I have located Harry Potter."

Hermione and Ron turned. Hermione put her hand over the scream that threatened to erupt from her. "Oh, no," she whispered. "no… no…." They both ran ahead, stopping beside the still body and dropping to their knees. "Oh, Harry, oh no, no, no," Hermione was weeping openly now; Ron's face was scrunched in misery.

Thor joined them a few moments later, standing over the trio, his own head bent in sorrow as well. "It was a great battle your friend engaged in, one that should have been mine."

Ron looked up at the Thunderer. "But _why_?" he asked, painfully. "Why would this Serpent attack Harry, if it was _you_ he was supposed to do battle with, at Ragnarok?" Hermione glanced up at him in surprise, and Ron shrugged. "I've been doing some reading too."

Thor was silent a moment. "He must've hoped to circumvent the prophecy that he and I must kill one another. If Jormungand killed Harry and kept Mjolnir hidden, he and I could never do battle. Once I died as a mortal, I would no longer be a threat to him — _and_ I would likely be in his sister Hela's clutches. It was a masterful plan." Thor stroked his beard. "Which leads me to believe that a mind greater than Jormungand's was behind it — he is a cunning beast, but lacks true wisdom."

"_Harry Potter_!"

Thor, Ron and Hermione all turned toward the woman's voice that had shouted at them from some distance away. It was Narcissa Malfoy, who was pointing a finger accusingly at Thor. "Yes, I know it's really you, Potter — how _dare_ you barge into my home! Look what's happened to it — it's ruined!" Draco, her son was following closely behind her, trying to stop her, but she kept shaking off his hand and striding angrily forward. "Draco, _no_, I won't stop, not until I've had my say with —"

She stopped short as Harry's body came into view on the ground between Ron and Hermione. "What are you two — and who's that on the ground?"

"That is Harry Potter," Thor said, flatly. "He stopped the monster Jormungand from ravaging your world, at the cost of his own life."

"_Who_?" Narcissa looked completely confused. "There was no one with that name in my home!"

"_You_ thought it was Voldemort," Hermione spoke, looking up with tearstained eyes at the blond-haired woman, who frowned at her.

"You can't prove that, girl," Narcissa said, archly. "Don't make statements you don't have any evidence for!"

"Harry came here to find a warrior who had attacked him earlier," Thor said, looking at Draco, who averted his eyes from the gaze of the Thunderer. "He also expected to find this Voldemort here as well."

"That would be _his_ problem," Narcissa snapped. "I don't know anything —"

"Mother, it doesn't make any difference, now," Draco said, cutting her off. "He's _gone_. You saw what Aunt Bella was like when we found ourselves in London — even _she_ believes he's gone. We have to find her, she ran off —"

"Your aunt can take care of herself," Narcissa sniffed, dismissing any further discussion about her older sister. "_I'm_ concerned about our living —"

"_Avada Kedavra_!" the curse came from somewhere behind Thor, and a blast of green light flashed toward him. But with a lightning-fast motion, Thor brought Mjolnir between it and him, deflecting the bolt into the air. A flash of light shot from the hammer, seeming to strike thin air, which rippled and became the toppling form of Bellatrix Lestrange, who fell to her knees, then slumped to the ground. Narcissa and Draco ran over to where she lay, quivering in pain.

"Your aunt and sister, I presume," Thor said curtly. "I sensed her presence as she approached, invisible. An unworthy attack, though it had little chance of success."

Narcissa was searching frantically for a pulse. "You bastard!" she looked up at the Thunderer, her voice seething with anger. "You nearly killed her!"

"It was her desire to kill _me_," Thor pointed out. "I have shown her more mercy than she would have shown me — I have let her live."

Narcissa laughed shrilly. "You destroy our home, nearly kill my sister, and talk of _mercy_? What kind of twisted, sick logic are you —"

She stopped, shrinking back as Thor pointed his hammer at her, Draco, and Narcissa. "Do _not_ lecture me on your notions of sickness, woman! Your master, the wizard Voldemort, _was_ in your home! Your son, Draco, has done his bidding for months now! These thoughts are in your mind, and his — and you whine like a drab that your _living arrangements_ have been disrupted! Yet you give not a thought to the one person who has saved your life, and the lives of countless others here on Midgard — Harry Potter!"

"You've, you've got to be kidding —" Draco sputtered.

"I speak the _truth_!" Thor shouted, and Draco flinched back, shaking in terror. "No, you need not fear me, Draco Malfoy — as callous as you are, I will do you no injury. Nor to your aunt, though she would have my life, believing I am still Potter. Bring her into your home and give her rest; she will recover."

"_What_ house?" Narcissa asked, shrilly. "What are you talking about? The house is _gone_!"

"No," Thor said, waving Mjolnir at the pile of debris that had been Malfoy Manor. "Behold."

Before everyone's astonished eyes, the rubble and remains of Malfoy Manor began falling _together_, like a demolition film being run backwards. Walls tipped up into place, the roof leaping back onto the walls as glass windows rejoined and mortar and brick repaired itself. Shrubs and bushes crushed flat popped up, fresh and whole again, and the black metal gates tipped up from the ground and hung themselves back onto the reformed stone walls. Stone paths uncracked and grass filled in torn sections of the lawn. Within a half-minute Malfoy Manor stood before them again, like new.

"There," Thor rumbled, pointing to the newly-reformed manor. "There is your comfortable life back! Now go and enjoy it, while we mourn the passing of a true hero!" Thor waved his hammer once again, and Draco, his mother, and the unconscious form of Bellatrix Lestrange disappeared.

Hermione and Ron, who'd been watching as well, exchanged a look, then turned back to the still form of their friend without a word. But Thor had noticed this is as well. "You disapprove?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at Hermione.

Hermione shook her head. "N-no, not really… I just think it's unfair that the Malfoys have their house destroyed, b-but they can get it back." She looked down at Harry, lying dead on the ground before her. "We can't ever get Harry back…"

"Harry Potter died a true hero," Thor said. "He fought against the odds, and accomplished what it was said no mortal man could do — bring about the death of the Midgard Serpent. I will see to it he is honored above all others in Asgard, e'en myself."

A pinpoint of light began to shine nearby, becoming brighter and brighter, until it was a sphere over six feet in diameter. A form stepped from it, a large man in Norse warrior garb, a sword and a golden horn strapped to his waist. He raised his hand in greeting.

"Hail, mighty Thor!" he said. "It is I, Heimdall, guardian of the Rainbow Bridge."

Thor smiled, perhaps for the first time since he'd reappeared. "Well met, Heimdall! It is good to see you once again!"

"Yes," Heimdall agreed, looking at Harry and the others. "I regret this reunion must come hard on the heels of a death so tragic. The All-Father bids me to request you return to Asgard immediately."

"I shall," Thor nodded. "And I wish to honor the death of my friend, Harry Potter — though I knew him only briefly, he must be laid to rest with full Asgardian honors for bringing about the Midgard Serpent's death."

"Odin agrees," Heimdall concurred. "When he learned the boy was worthy of Mjolnir, he made him a blood-son."

"Even so?" Thor exclaimed. "Good! Then he will grace the halls of Valhalla with his spirit until the Last Day, which may never come now that the prophecy has been broken."

"Wait a minute," Ron spoke up, in spite of being somewhat intimidated by these men. "That's not what happens to wizards when they die!"

"It isn't?" Thor asked, amused. "What happens to them then, young sir?"

"Uhh…"

"We don't really know," Hermione admitted.

"Your friend Harry was made blood-son to Odin All-Father," Heimdall explained. "Their souls were bonded together by the Odin Force. Harry is now a part of the Shining Realm, and can never be separated from it. That is why we will honor his accomplishments, and his victory in death."

Hermione nodded, wiping her tears from her cheek. "That's… wonderful," she whispered. Beside her, Ron nodded in silent agreement.

"It is my wish that his friends attend his funeral," Thor told Heimdall, who rubbed his whiskered chin thoughtfully.

"The All-Father may not wish us to bring mortals into Asgard," he said, slowly. "But we can do aught but ask. Let us be on our way." The gatekeeper made a circular motion in the air and a portal opened, showing them a shining bridge of color. Thor gathered up Harry's body and the four stepped through and walked across the glowing structure into Asgard.

At the edge of the Shining Realm, waiting for them, stood a large, white-haired but powerfully-built man, along with four other warriors who surrounded a bier. Thor laid Harry's body on the bier, then clasped shoulders with the older man. Thor was large, but Odin was taller than him by several inches. "My son! You are back with us once again!"

"Yes, Father," Thor said, then bent on one knee before him. "Hail, mighty Odin, Father of us all! I humbly apologize for the hardships I did cause you these many years, and for being lost for so long."

"The fault is mine," Odin said, bidding him rise again. "I should have kept better watch over you… But it is in the past, now. Today we will mourn the passing of my blood-son, Harry Potter, and celebrate his arrival in Valhalla."

"Yes, Father," Thor nodded. "I have brought two of his friends from Midgard, to witness the celebration. Being mortals, it will be the last time they will be able to see him." Odin raised an eyebrow at this, and Thor added, "They were his closest friends — I thought they deserved the chance to see how we will honor him."

After several seconds, Odin nodded. "It is allowed," he declared.

Odin's warriors picked up Harry's bier and they began a procession back toward Valgrind, the gate that leads to Valhalla, where those who die in battle appear, to be chosen by Odin, or sent on Folkvangr, the fields ruled over by Freya.

Thor, happy to be home again, pointed out to Ron and Hermione places of interest in Asgard: the woods where he roamed as a child; the mountains where he fought giants in his youth. At one point along the path, Heimdall pointed out the yew tree where his adopted brother, Loki, was imprisoned after Balder's death. Thor scowled but did not look at the tree.

"Can you believe any of this, Ron?" Hermione whispered, as they made their way along the path toward Valhalla.

"I dunno," Ron said, shrugging. "I sort of think I'm dreaming…"

"We're not, you know," Hermione told him. "I've pinched myself twice to make sure. This is where Harry's going to be from now on!" she added.

"Yeah…" Ron muttered. "Lucky him. He's dead."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean? You aren't _jealous_ of him, are you?"

"Jealous that he's dead?" Ron gave her a sharp look. "Don't be barking!"

"Then what's eating you?" Hermione demanded. "Why are you being so negative about this?"

Ron stared at her sullenly for several seconds. "He might've told us about that hammer a bit sooner, don't you think? What kind of adventures d'you think he was off having, then, an' _we're_ back in Hogwarts studying Potions or writing essays!"

"Oh, so you _were_ jealous," Hermione smirked.

Ron looked at her, a hollow expression on his face. "Maybe," he admitted. "But right now I just wish he were still alive, and could go back with us."

Hermione's expression saddened as well. "So do I…"

As the procession moved through Asgard toward Valgrind, they were joined by other Asgardians, overjoyed to see Thor among them again, and wanting to honor Harry for the heroism he'd shown. The crowd following Harry's funeral procession had swelled to hundreds, perhaps thousands, by the time they reached the large stone gates that stood before Odin's Hall of the Slain.

Odin stood before the gates, raising his arms for silence. "My children," he proclaimed. "As grateful as I am for the return of my son, Thor, to our realm, I am saddened that it has come at such high cost — yes, even the life of a mortal!

"For Harry Potter was no mere mortal, but a _man_ worthy of carrying Mjolnir itself! Even in the face of what he knew to be insurmountable odds, he fought the monster Jormungand, and slew him! Such bravery, even by itself, should earn him a place in Valhalla! I am therefore pleased to announce that when I entrusted Harry with Mjolnir, I also made him my blood son!"

Murmurs, then cheers ran through the crowd, and Odin raised his hands for silence once again. "It is nearly time for the day's gloriously deceased to appear before the gates of Valhalla, to be given a place there or in Freya's realm of Folkvangr. Harry will be welcomed among the Einherjar, here in Valhalla, to fight alongside them and learn their skills, 'til the Last Day comes, when we will vanquish the sons of Muspell."

The crowd roared approval. "Well spoken, Father!" Thor shouted.

"Look!" someone in the crowd shouted, pointing into the distance. "Valkyrie

comes!"

In the sky a small, white dot moved toward them. Heimdall, with his keen eyes, said softly, "It is Brunnhilde, on her winged horse Aragorn…"

Odin frowned. "That cannot be — she was thrown down to Hel centuries ago!"

Heimdall shook his head. "I can only tell what I see, All-Father."

"Is she alone?" Thor demanded.

"No," Heimdall said, trying to see. "But I cannot see who rides with her, his face is hidden by her hair."

Asgard waited silently as the flying figure drew closer, then landed some distance away, approaching slowly as the crowd parted to let them through. At last, before Harry's bier, the figure behind Brunnhilde stepped down from her horse and bent on one knee before Odin, who let out a gasp of surprise.

"Balder, my son!" Odin cried, amazement written across his features. "_How_ have you escaped Hela's foul embrace?"

"All-Father," Balder bowed his head in respect. "I fear Hela has gained a prize she covets even more than me. She set me and Brunnhilde at the mouth of her realm, telling us to report back that she had Thor in her grasp at last, and that she no longer needed the likes of us. Father, I cannot believe that she has Thor —!"

"She doesn't," Thor said, stepping forward. Balder started, then grasped Thor's shoulders in joy.

"Brother!" he exclaimed. "But then — why release us? What game does the Queen of Death play with us?"

Thor stood still but a moment, then turned and hurled Mjolnir along the path they had approached from. The Hammer buzzed angrily as it flew unerringly toward its target, slamming into the yew where Loki was supposed to be imprisoned. The tree shattered into pieces.

"Eh?" Heimdall grunted, watching as pieces of the tree scattered to the ground. "Where is Loki?"

"Escaped, I warrant," Thor replied. "I suspected a mind greater than Jormungand's was behind this. He must be manipulating his progeny toward these actions."

"Then what is Hela's role in this?" Balder asked.

"She sets a trap of her own," Thor said, grimly. "She has wrongfully claimed the soul of Harry Potter, thinking to lure other Asgardians into her foul realm, and keep us there." He turned to Odin. "We cannot let this injustice stand, Father!"

"Agreed," Odin said, slowly. "But I fear to lose you again, my son, so soon after your return to the Realm. Hela wields great power in her abode."

"I know, Father," Thor said. "I am loathe to stand against her, but I have been too long away from Asgard, and have shirked my duties as its protector. Harry, as your blood-son, is under my protection as well, and I will return him to the Realm or die in the attempt!"

Odin nodded heavily. "Then go, return him to us, my son." _And may _all_ our plans be successful_, he added to himself, as the Thunderer strode away to make preparations to invade Hel itself.

=ooo=

As Thor and the Einherjar made preparations, an old man, dressed in a deep blue robe and a tall, pointed, wide-brimmed hat, walked along the Road to Hel. His steps were light but slow — it had been a long journey. With him he carried a tall walking stick and several pouches fastened to his belt. Though the air was cold and dank about him, he did not seem to notice it.

At the river Gjoll, he stopped at the bridge Gjallerbru, staring impassively across it, then smiled to himself and resumed his pace. Halfway across, he watched as Modgud, the bridge's guardian, stepped up to the far end to challenge him. "Hold," she told him, as she had for the Trickster when he approached her, not long ago. "Speak your name and your business here in Hela's abode."

The old man came to a halt, resting both hands on his walking stick. He spoke clearly, though the brim of his hat kept the guardian from seeing most of his face. "My business is with your mistress, the Queen of Death," he replied, in a tired but pleasant voice. "As for my name, I have many of them."

"Give me one, then" the giantess said, hollowly. "For without a name, you may not leave this place without my mistresses' permission."

"Your mistress may not wish me to leave once she knows I am here," the old man said, with the slightest shrug. "But as you must have a name, I think _Forni_ will do."

Modgud frowned slightly. "'Ancient One,'" she said, revealing the meaning of the name given. "Do you mean to say you are —"

"You asked for a name, giantess," the old man cut her off. "I have given you one. That should be satisfactory."

"Indeed," she nodded, stepping slowly aside. "You may pass, though I warrant you are correct that my mistress will want you to spend some time here before you leave."

"We shall see," the old man smiled at her, nodding politely as he passed, and made his way down the golden path leading to the Helgate and Hela's throne hall. As he strode along the gold-paved road, his appearance became less and less substantial, until by the time he stood before the entrance to Hel and Eljudnir, Hela's vast throne hall, he was quite imperceptible. Hearing a noise outside the gate, two guardians opened it to investigate, but found nothing. Confused, they retreated back inside the Helgate, never realizing that population of Hel had increased by one.

The old man entered Eljudnir, moving soundlessly, idly inspecting the vast magnificence and opulence of Hela's throne hall. Formed from the finest marble and granite, its walls were inlaid with intricate patterns of gold and silver, and encrusted with gems of all sizes and shapes. Exquisite tapestries hung from the wall, showing images of Hela ruling her domain.

The old man smiled to himself; there was a bit of vanity in everyone, even a Death goddess. "I am surprised to see you here," a cold voice spoke from the far end of the hall. "I rather thought you would have more sense than to confront me here by yourself, old man."

The old man faded into view once again, offering a nod of respect to the Queen of Death. His hat still obstructed a clear view of his face. "You may call it a show of good faith, my dear," he said, continuing to approach her throne. "This negotiation calls for a face-to-face meeting, not time-wasting audiences with emissaries and messengers."

"Negotiation?" Hela looked amused. "There is little for you to negotiate with — I have your blood-son, Harry Potter, carefully hidden. You would never find him, even were I to allow you to look!"

"And what of his godfather, Sirius Black?" the old man asked. "Surely he is of no further use to you, now that you have Harry."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," Hela shrugged. "Either way, I have no good reason to release him — he is a useful distraction for Potter. You will not be able to manipulate me that easily, old man!"

"Perhaps not," the old man conceded. "After all, I am not your father."

Hela waved away the implication. "Faugh! My father does not control me — that is a poor attempt to turn me against him."

"As you say," the old man agreed, leaning on his walking stick. "But… how much of what you've accomplished lately has been at his instigation, or influence?"

"I tell you, Hela follows her own will!" Hela said, loudly. She pointed a finger tremblingly at the old man. "My father foolishly aspires to rule Asgard one day, thinking the All-Father is blind to his efforts. My efforts are more subtle."

"Indeed," the old man agreed. "Playing the waiting game can take much patience. I hope you do not tire easily."

"We shall see, old man," Hela said, almost contemptuously. "Now, begone from my domain, I tire of your unwanted presence here."

"As you wish," the old man said, mildly. "But before I take my leave, do you think I might at least have a word with Harry? It may indeed be the only time I will see him before the Last Day, you know."

"Touching," Hela sneered. She gestured, and an iron cage appeared in the fire pit at the center of the hall. Inside the cage, sitting on a rude wooden bench, was a bedraggled, tired-looking Harry, slumped over in misery. At the far end of the cage, looking equally unhappy, was Sirius Black. Neither Harry nor Sirius seemed aware of each others' presence.

"He doesn't _seem_ very distracted," the old man remarked, placidly.

"I sometimes have a penchant for irony," Hela smiled. "They are only a few feet from each other, but neither of them can sense the other, nor anything outside the bars that surround them, unless I will it. I'll allow you a few minutes with the boy. Then, go back and tell that coward, Thor, that the only ransom I will accept is for him to take Potter's place."

"That is a high price for the life of a mortal, Queen of Death."

"The life of Odin's blood-son," she reminded him. "As you should know."

The old man made a gesture of acquiescence. "Do you mind if I speak with him privately?"

Hela gazed at the old man for several moments, a look of suspicion on her cold features. "Your word, then, that you will make no attempt to escape with him, or to help him escape?"

The old man nodded. "My word."

Hela stood. "I will return shortly." She disappeared.

The old man approached the cage, moving to stand in front of Harry, who was still staring at his feet. "Hello, Harry," he said, quietly.

Harry's head jerked up, his eyes wide. "Pro—" he began, but the old man was holding up a finger to his lips, signaling Harry to be still. Harry stared at him for several seconds. "How could you _possibly_ find me here?" he finally asked, in a low voice.

The old man smiled mysteriously, but answered. "Let us say that whatever privacies it seems to eliminate, The Trace can be a very useful spell for locating underage wizards."

"'The Trace?'" Harry repeated, then frowned. "Underage? You mean the spell that lets the Ministry know whenever an underage wizard casts a spell? Fred was telling Hermione and me about —" he stopped suddenly, looking horrified. "But — but I'm…_d-dead_. Wouldn't the spell have broken when —"

"Normally, it would have," the old man answered. But in your case, for reasons as yet unknown, it is still operating."

"And how did you get _here_?"

"That is a secret I must keep for now," the old man answered. "I can tell you that Sirius is here as well."

Harry's eyes lit up. "He _is_ alive?" he asked excitedly, then amended himself "I mean — I guess that means we're in the same boat now, living-wise…"

The old man chuckled softly. "More so than you realize — you and he are both in that cage." When Harry began looking around, wildly, he added, "but Hela's magic prevents you from sensing one another's presence."

Harry settled down, then nodded curtly and asked, "So what's the plan to get us out of here?"

"Still a bit uncertain, I'm afraid," the old man admitted. "I promised Hela I would not help you escape."

Harry looked mightily confused at that. "Then why even come here —?"

"_However_," the old man continued, "I did _not_ promise I would not help Sirius escape."

=ooo=

Thor and Balder led a group of Einherjar along the Helway toward Gjallerbru, the "point of no return" for their quest to recover Harry from Hela's grasp. Ron and Hermione had protested vehemently when told they would not be allowed along, but Thor had been adamant — no children were to be put in harm's way, especially not Hela's!

After slipping past Garm, the giant wolf that guarded the far entrance of Helway, at the mouth of the cave Gnipa, they began their trek. Even though the distance to Hel's entrance was a nine-day walk, the power of Thor's hammer allowed them to traverse it in only a few hours, until they were within sight of the bridge over the river Gjoll.

"I do not look forward to returning here, brother," Balder told Thor quietly. "But, given the trickery used to send Harry Potter to Hela, much less what the Trickster caused me to endure here at her hands, it is a worthy cause."

"Loki has much to answer for," Thor agreed, grimly. "He is behind much of the mischief that has been wrought of late, I am sure of it." He held up his hand suddenly, bringing the contingent of Asgardians to a halt. "Look! Someone comes to the bridge!"

As they watched from the far side of the bridge, a single figure, dressed in dark colors, approached. As it neared the bridge, Modgud stepped from her guardhouse. Seeing the figure, she gave a slight bow and allowed it to pass her unchallenged. The figure nodded, then walked across the bridge, stopping in front of Asgardians and giving a small bow.

Thor and Balder looked at one another. "All-Father?" Thor said, uncertainly, for it was Odin's way to sometimes disguise himself and wander amongst the enemy. And yet, who else would have the temerity to confront Hela in her own domain? Wearing a disguise would be nearly useless.

"Professor Albus Dumbledore, at your service, Thor," the old man answered, bowing courteously to the Thunderer.

Thor looked taken aback for a moment. "You are Harry Potter's mortal teacher, are you not?" he asked. "How is it we find you escaping Hela's grasp? She is not one to allow any soul to leave her domain, once entered!"

"She might not have let me go so easily," the old man agreed, "if she had believed I was merely a mortal wizard. However, she mistook me, as you did, for someone else."

"And what of Harry himself?" the Thunderer inquired. "How fares he?"

"Both Harry and Sirius Black are being kept in Hela's throne hall at the moment, in a cage in the center of the hall. She has cast an enchantment that renders each of the unable to sense the other's presence, however."

"A mark of her cruelty," Thor noted, frowning. "Has she set terms for their release?"

"I'm afraid so," the old man nodded. "Sirius seems unimportant to her, but for Harry's release she will accept only you in exchange, Thor." There were murmurs from Balder and the Einherjar with Thor at this. That, they knew, was Hela's goal — to remove Thor from Asgard, and thus remove the primary protector of the Shining Realm. This would tip the balance of power away from Odin and give Hela (and presumably her father, Loki) a chance to overtake Asgard.

"Bah," sneered Thor, hefting Mjolnir "I'll tear her hall down around her —"

"Bold words, Thunderer," a cold female voice called out, and across the Gjallerbru they saw Hela standing before them, awaiting their arrival. "But you are not in the bosom of the land your dear father made for those mewling Aesir — you are in HEL now!"

"What of it, daughter of Loki," Thor responded, loudly. "Do you think your power can match the power of the All-Father?"

"That would be a foolish boast," Hela laughed. "But I can certainly match _your_ puny power, Thunderer!"

"We shall see," Thor growled. "I come to demand you return Harry Potter's soul — it was taken unfairly."

"Oh?" Hela scoffed. "How so?"

"He fell battling Jormungand, your brother, a fight that should not have come to him — it was foretold the Serpent and I would do battle one day."

Hela smirked. "A shame, then, that you were hiding somewhere on Midgard all these years, unavailable — my brother must have decided that killing an ersatz Thor was better than nothing."

Thor's face reddened with anger. "I was not hiding!"

"True!" Hela agreed. "You were being punished! Your father cast you down from Asgard, for your arrogance! And while you were gone, he found a mortal whom he loved more than you, and made him his blood-son! You should be glad I have him here — he's no longer a threat to your inheritance of the Odin-Power!"

Thor did not respond. After several moments Balder spoke to him, in a low voice, "Brother, that cannot be important to you now, can it?"  
Thor shook himself. "N-no, brother — but Hela has learned well from her trickster father, how to twist the words and actions of others. My duty is to protect Asgard, and Midgard, and all those who live therein."

More loudly, Thor said, "Hela, your feeble manipulations can do me no harm! Return Harry Potter to us or suffer the consequences!"

"Another wild boast," Hela taunted. "You have no power here, Thor! You are even afraid to cross this bridge, and face me!"

"You speak falsely, Hela!" Thor shouted. "I know it is me you desire to keep here, so that you might weaken Asgard!"

"Think you so?" Hela laughed, mocking him. "Truly, Thunderer, your arrogance has abated little these past thirty years! Do you believe _you_ are only protection your poor father has?"  
"Any of us would die for All-Father Odin!" Balder shouted.

"_Any_ of you?" Hela called back. "A worthy boast, if true, oh Shining One!" With a small wave of her hand, Harry appeared next to her, looking drawn and tired. He looked about uncertainly, unsure of what had just occurred, then spotted Thor and the others across the bridge. He looked up at Hela, loathingly.

"Look, boy," Hela told him. "Your savior is here." Across the bridge she called, "Balder has boasted that any of you would die for your Hanged Lord Odin — here is your chance to prove it. Since Thor will not change places with Harry Potter, I offer any of you to do so!"  
Harry looked shocked. "NO!" he shouted.

"Yes!" Hela laughed. "Balder, will you sacrifice yourself once again, and stay with me, this time 'til the Last Day looms o'er us all?" She pointed at one of the Einherjar. "Hogan, will you?" When Hogan merely glared grimly at her, she made a gesture of dismissal. "Faugh! What a bunch of old women!"  
"Do not expect us to fall for your tricks, daughter of Loki!" Thor rumbled. "You hold Harry Potter under false pretenses! You violate your own agreement with the All-Father! It is you who must surrender him to us!"

"But that is _not_ what we doing this time!" Hela announced. "My brother, Jormungand, is dead, and I'll have my vengeance!"

"_Your_ vengeance?" Thor laughed. "Your father's vengeance, more like! Loki has escaped from his prison, as you must know, and clearly drives these events!"

"Think what you will, Thunderer," Hela told him. "But my offer stands, though _none_ of you have the temerity to accept it!"

"_I_ will stay," a voice softly said, and the old man stepped forward from the crowd of warriors.

"_You_!" Even Hela's eyes widened in surprise. "A mere mortal, offering up his life for a child?"

"Ah, so you _did_ see through my little ruse?" the old man asked.

"But of course," Hela said, scornfully. "I knew you were not Odin — he _would_ have better sense than to come before me, alone and defenseless, in mine own domain. I detected your ruse within moments of your arrival before me, mortal.

"But _why_ offer yourself for Potter?"

"It is very simple," the old man replied. "As a student under my care, I am responsible for his welfare — and I would be remiss in that welfare if I allowed him to fall into your clutches."

"Then you have already failed," Hela pointed out. "For I have him _now_."

"Professor, don't —!" Harry began to yell, but at a touch of Hela's hand he fell silent.

"However," the old man went on, "you have graciously offered me a solution to that situation, one I intend to accept."

"You will not find your stay particularly pleasant, nor short," Hela said, threateningly.

"Oh, I've no doubt of that," the old man agreed, pleasantly. "After all, I am not your first choice for Harry's replacement — I doubt I was even on the list of candidates."

"You weren't," Hela muttered. She suddenly smiled. "But I will honor the agreement." She waved her hand once again, and Harry disappeared from her side, appearing next to Thor. The old man, however, remained where he stood.

"And what of me?" he asked, seeing Harry had joined them. "Have you changed your mind, oh Queen of Death?"

"Not really," Hela smiled, enjoying their moment of confusion. "One of you will remain with me — Sirius Black."

Harry shook his head, horrified. "No!" he shouted once again. "He has to come back with us!" He looked up at Thor. "He was the reason I was trying to find you — so your father would help me find Sirius!"

"Hela," Thor called across the bridge. "You have no use for the mortal. One soul, more or less, in your realm will not hasten the Last Day, nor change your odds of winning."

"True," Hela said, indifferently. "But as you refuse to take Potter's place, I have decided to choose who will stay here in his place. Since Black is the one Potter wants most to return with him, he will stay." She pointed a regal finger at them. "Now, begone, all of you, from my domain!" Before any of them could protest further, they all found themselves back at the beginning of the Helway, in front of the cave Gnipa. From the cave, an enormous pair of glowing, yellow eyes glared at them — Garm, the wolf-guardian of the _Gnipahellir_, the entrance to the Helway, watched them from its shadows.

Seeing Harry, Garm leapt forward, jaws agape, to grab him and throw him back into Hel, but Thor threw Mjolnir at the beast, knocking it back into the cave, where it howled painfully and did not attack again. Harry himself, however, had to be restrained by one of the Einherjar, to keep him from running back into the cave of his own accord. "No! No!" he kept shouting. "We have to go back for Sirius!" until the old man laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke quietly to him. Harry looked at him a long moment, his expression one of disbelief, but he fell silent, and went with them back to Valgrind, the gates of Valhalla, where Odin and the other Asgardians waited with Harry's mortal remains, along with Ron and Hermione.

Hermione, overjoyed to see Harry, ran forward to hug him, but gasped as her arms passed through him, like one of the Hogwarts ghosts. She stepped back, staring at him in shock. "Hi," he nodded, trying to reassure her. "Yeah, it's really me, Hermione. Hi, Ron." Ron nodded, looking apprehensive. It was really weird, seeing Harry standing there next to his dead body.

Odin smiled, seeing Harry with Thor and Balder. "Ah, my sons have returned, all of them!" He placed his hands on Thor and Balder's shoulders. "My one son from Midgard, and my other son, from Hel itself!" He turned to Harry, placing a hand on his body's chest and touching Harry's shade at the same moment. "And my blood-son has been returned to me as well! May your body and soul be rejoined!" Harry's soul faded from view, and the body under Odin's hand took a slow, deep breath. Harry Potter was alive again.

Harry stood slowly, flexing his hands and arms experimentally, convincing himself that he was flesh and blood once again. Hermione confirmed it by hugging him tightly, this time able to hold him, and Ron hugged him as well.

Finally, he turned to the old man, who held both arms out to him. Harry stepped into his arms, not knowing what to say to his headmaster, but as they stood there he felt the man's form flowing, shifting, and he stepped back to behold — Sirius!

"Yes, it's me, pup," Sirius said, hugging Harry even harder than before. "Dumbledore exchanged places with me, and made me act as he would, until you were made whole again."

"He _did_ save you!" Harry cried, exultantly. But then his expression fell again. "But — what of the professor? That means he stayed with Hela…"

"Yes," Sirius said, quietly. "But I have the impression that he considered it a worthwhile sacrifice, to ensure your freedom."

=ooo=

The celebration honoring the return of Odin's three sons — Thor, Balder and now Harry Potter — lasted three days, with great feasts, competitions, and much merry-making. Thor, Balder and Harry occupied places of honor near Odin himself, and even Ron and Hermione were allowed at the High Table, sitting next to Harry, to enjoy the festivities.

There were demonstrations of horsemanship and weapons skill by the Hogun the Grim; Fandral the Dashing put on an exhibition of swordplay against several Einherjar at one time; Volstagg the Voluminous easily won the mead-quaffing contest, though Thor put up a hearty resistance.

On the final day of celebration, Odin called a halt to the festivities, then had Idunn, the keeper of the golden apples, place a plateful in front of Harry. "My son," he told Harry. "So that you may remain with us here in Asgard, I offer you Idunn's apples, that you may become one of us."

Harry, dumbfounded, could only shake his head. "Lord Odin," he said, looking at Sirius and his friends Ron and Hermione. "I — I am grateful for the offer, but all I've wanted during this was to find my godfather Sirius, and to have my normal life back on Earth again."

"You refuse my offer to join us in Asgard?" Odin asked.

"You have your son Thor back," Harry said. "And your son Balder has been returned from Hel, though my headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, has taken his place. I would like to return to Earth and live my life there."

Odin was silent for some time. "As you wish," he finally nodded. "I suspected such would be your desire." He held out his hands; a long, silver box appeared, and he placed it on the table before Harry. "This is a parting present, from me to you. Open it."

Harry opened the box, finding a gray wand inside. Picking it up, he found it was exactly the same length as his old original holly wand, eleven inches. "I had Eitri forge a wand from mystic uru, as a replacement for Mjolnir for you. No other wand on Midgard will be able to match its power."  
Harry bowed to Odin. "It is a great honor to be given such a gift, mighty Odin. I will treasure it always!"

Odin nodded solemnly. "Time for you to leave us, then. But, we will meet again, Harry Potter, someday — for you are my blood-son, and your fate is tied to ours now, irrevocably. May you fare well until then." With a wave of his hand, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Sirius disappeared from Asgard, reappearing in the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place a moment later, before an astounded Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"Oh my lord, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, then "SIRIUS! YOU'RE ALIVE!"

"Ron! And Hermione!" Mr. Weasley was equally surprised to see his son and Miss Granger appear. "What's this all about?"

"Hang onto your pants, Dad," Ron told him, breathlessly. "You're not going to _believe_ what we've been through!"

=ooo=

After banishing the interlopers from her realm, Hela, Queen of the Damned, returned to her throne room where her lone prisoner remained. "So, Sirius Black, it appears you will be staying with me for some time. Your friends have abandoned you — yes, even your godson Harry Potter decided to leave you here, to my 'tender mercies.'" She smiled cruelly as Black looked up at her from the cage. But her smile disappeared when she saw the look of humor on his face.

"You are laboring under a false apprehension, Hela," Black said, as his features began to change. "Harry and Sirius _are_ together again, for I am Albus Dumbledore, not Black." The old headmaster now smiled at Hela from behind the iron bars.

"Impossible!" Hela screeched. "You, a mere mortal, could not have overcome my magic!"

Dumbledore shrugged — obviously the evidence suggested otherwise, but even the headmaster did not know he'd had the subtle help of the All-Father himself, who'd given him the skills to transform him and Black into the others' likeness and exchange places with him in the cage, disguising his identity so well even Hela could not discern any difference between them when Black, as Dumbledore, walked out of her throne hall.

"You will suffer gravely for this deception, old man," Hela breathed angrily.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore nodded. "But it will be worth it." He glanced down at his right hand, blackened and shriveled, knowing that whatever agonies Hela planned for him, within a year Voldemort's curse would bring his suffering to an end.


End file.
